


Broken Images

by Kalkasar (Mordhena)



Series: Broken Images [1]
Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Addiction, Drug Use, M/M, Maquis, Pre Voyager, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-25
Updated: 2015-03-27
Packaged: 2018-03-08 23:35:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 33
Words: 53,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3227726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mordhena/pseuds/Kalkasar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Originally published on Tom Paris Dorm. Republished here with some rewrites. This story follows the back story behind Tom Paris's cashierment from star fleet and how he became involved with the Maquis. It is my take on why there was so much bitterness between Tom and the Maquis in early Voyager episodes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Iscariot

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Haggy](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Haggy).



 

Broken Images Kalkasar

 

The Iscariot

 

The hiss of a hypospray pierced the dark, silence of the small room. Afterwards, the fevered panting of a young man who dropped the tool from slackening fingers as he fell back against the pillow. Relief...numbness flooded through him. He groaned, shaking his head. If not for the dizziness it would be pleasurable. Once upon a time, it had been pleasurable. The fuzzy feeling, helping him through the worst of the nightmares, the worst of the pain. Now, though it was as necessary to him as breath itself, it no longer held any pleasure. Now, it was just done. Something the brain demanded and the body provided.

He didn't know how much longer he could do it without being found out. Surely, someone would notice soon. / _They have to notice, soon...they must notice soon.../_ He slept for a while then woke to another sensation. Another demand. Driving him from the bed, to force his weary feet to carry him across the floor. Opening the door of the cooling unit. He stood for a while, staring blankly into the ice box. / _What....what?_ / He shook his head and blinked a few times, then his eye fell on what he sought. Seizing the bottle, he raised it to his mouth and drank, greedily, hungrily, downing the contents to the last drop before he flung the bottle to the floor.

"Fuck!" He staggered to the Bathroom."'puder...ti...time?" The words were slurred but somehow the mechanical device understood his meaning.

"The time is zero three hundred hours."

"Fuck!" He made his way into the bathroom and splashed cold water on his face. Raising bloodshot, cerulean eyes to the mirror, he stared at the haggard face that gazed mockingly back at him. "You...y'look...y'look ole'..." he slurred to his reflection. The haggard man in the glass mouthed his words back at him. He laughed and muttered, "S...So...so d'you!" Some part of his fogged brain found the idea highly amusing and he staggered backwards, howling with laughter. Backing into a wall, he bumped his head. Not hard, but enough to sober him a little. Sighing and muttering a curse, he made his way back to the bedroom and sat on the side of the bed. Dropping his head into his hands he rubbed his face vigorously, trying to recall when was the last time he'd slept an entire night without waking, as he had tonight, craving more drink, more sedatives more...numbing of his personal pain. Sometimes, three or four times in a night.

His hands continued to rub, distractedly moving higher up his face until, unconsciously, he was clawing at his hair, gripping and pulling in an attempt to pull the blonde strands out by the roots.

"God!" he croaked. "What the fuck do I hafta do to find peace?"

"Tell them, Tom." A voice spoke out of nowhere.

He started, snatching his hands out of his hair to hug himself as though suddenly chilled. His frantic eyes scanned the room.

"Where are you!" he demanded. "I can't see you!" He was panting, shaking as though chilled to the bone. "COME OUT WHERE I CAN SEE! FUCK YOU! SHOW YOURSELF!" He leaned forward, his arms wrapped across his belly, hands gripping at his shirt. Vomit burned the back of his throat and he made no attempt to hold back. Stomach heaving painfully, he spewed the sour whiskey back up and watched distractedly as the liquid splattered on the floor.

For a long time, he was silent. The sour smell of vomit permeated the room but he seemed not to care, lost in a silent reverie of his own. "Tell?" he spoke softly at last. "Tell them? Tell them I screwed up." he laughed. "Oh fuck yeah! it's so god damned simple. But it wont change anything!" he looked up, eyes scanning the room again. "You think telling them will fix it? You think Telling them will change things WILL IT BRING YOU BACK!?"

He rocked, distractedly back and forth back and forth, a sawing motion, comforting, strangely. One hand resting on his knee, the fingers clenching and unclenching, fingernails tearing into his skin unnoticed.

"Tell them!" The voice urged.

He laughed. "Hell yeah! I'll tell them...I'll go to them and say...'the fucking voices in my head sent me to tell you'..." Closing his eyes, Tom rocked harder, swinging back and forth, scratching at his now bloodied knee. His free hand moved fretfully to his face and he rubbed his upper lip, it itched...the morphine caused that...there was a remedy for it, but he had run out. He rubbed harder, now his nose, now his chin. Itching. He scratched at his face, nails raking, drawing blood but he didn't feel it. GOD! GOOOOOD!" he screamed the name of a deity he no longer believed in. God had forsaken him, long ago. Tom Paris and Almighty God had a nodding acquaintance...if they bothered to even see each other as they passed. If they caught a glimpse of each other in the cracked mirrors that no longer reflected one to the other clearly. Fractured mirrors. Broken Images, nothing more than that. And these days, the shards of the mirror were too crowded with other images anyway. His ears were too attentive to other voices.

The God his mother had told him about, the one who loved him, but never said so, had become too inexorably tangled up with the other entity Tom called 'father.'

"Fuck!" Tom looked down at his knee, the rocking stilled and he noticed the blood. "I'll start with my Father who art in Star Fleet, shall I?" He laughed. "My father who art in Star Fleet...Hallowed be your name...." Tom snorted derisively. "Well, if it doesn't buy me peace...I'll at least have the satisfaction of knowing I tore down his kingdom. That he will suffer. And he owes us that, doesn't he?"

Smirking, Tom got to his feet and headed for the communications panel. "Owen Paris ... who art in Star Fleet ... you think you're god? Well, here comes Judas."


	2. The Mighty Fallen

He sat at his desk with his graying head resting in his hands. Sighing deeply he closed blue eyes and ground his teeth. 

The news had shattered him, and worse than that, had been the attitude with which the news was delivered. 

"Dad! Hi! It's me, Tommy...you remember? Your unwanted son...your failure son who never does anything right..." 

"Thomas. I've asked you before not to contact me in work hours..." 

"Yeah, I know, Dad..but this was so momentous that I just had to tell you now...ya see...you have to listen to this. Even if you don't listen now, I will record it and you _will_ have to listen at some stage. You don't look all that busy now, so...I'm just gonna go ahead and tell you...Actually, maybe you'd better sit down." 

"Thomas..." 

"No, Dad! For once, just fucking shut up and listen...all right?" 

Something in the face of his son caused Admiral Owen Paris to pause in the act of shutting down the com.

"All right, Thomas. What is so God awful important that it can't wait?" He didn't sit down, but remained on his feet, hooded eyes gazing at his son's unkempt appearance. {{I know he's had it rough, but he could take a little care of himself...}} 

"Actually, God awful is a good term. God...awful...yeah you'd say it was...you know the accident on Caldik prime? Those three officers that were killed when we went down?" 

"Thomas..." 

"Shut the fuck up, Dad!" Tom's blue, tortured eyes flashed and Owen leaned forward. 

"Mind your filthy tongue! You sound like a Marine!" 

"Yeah, well, we won't go into _that_ right now, Father. I have to tell you...they told me to tell you..." Thomas scratched his face. 

Owen narrowed his eyes, staring intently at his son over the com channel. "You've been drinking again." 

"Dad! I killed them! OK? I had to tell you...I killed those three officers. It was my fault. I made a misjudgment of the sensor readings...and before I could correct it...we were down! The Shuttle was on fire...we broke up..." Tom began to cry, his words becoming almost incoherent. "Dad...I'm sorry, Dad...it was my f-fault...and I covered it up!" 

Admiral Owen Paris sat down. "Shit...Thomas..." He glanced at the weeping young man on the screen and his stomach turned. "Shit..." 

"Charlie Brampston, Samuel Linster, and Caroline Shaw, are dead because of me, sir." Tom said brokenly. "I know I let you down again. I'm sorry. I'm not going anywhere, you can tell Star Fleet Security where to find me." 

There was a small flash, a hum, and the screen went black. 

Owen Paris dropped his head into his hands. "You stupid Screw up...you stupid young screw up, Thomas. 

He had remained thus for an hour. It seemed more like a year. 

Finally, he moved, reaching for a button on the communications Panel. 

"Admiral Paris to Security. Have two officers report to my office immediately."


	3. Honor Thy Father

He sat quietly on the side of his bed and waited for them. He knew they would come. His father was too much the Star Fleet Officer to not send them. 

_"I've asked you before not to contact me in working hours.."_

"Fuck!" Tom shook his head. 

Only Owen Paris could possibly call 0330, 'working hours.' 

He sighed and lifted the newly replicated bottle of whiskey to his lips. Hopefully, he could pass out before the security guys arrived, and not have to look at their faces, or read the knowledge of what he'd done in their eyes. Hopefully. 

But as usual, the universe was against him. The door chimes rang out and he knew the moment had come. Standing, he made his way unsteadily into the day room. "C-come..come in," he slurred, and stood, wavering on his feet to await them. 

"Da...Dad!?" Tom's eyes fought to find focus on the tall man who entered the room and he staggered back a pace or two when his father came to stand right in front of him. He tried hard not to cower, but it was a survival instinct. 

Owen caught Tom by the shirt front and pulled him close. "Come back here, you little shit!" 

"Dad...please..." Tom's hands came up in a reflex defensive action. "Please...Dad..." 

"Shut up!" Owen's hand cracked smartly across his son's cheek. He let the younger man go and glared at him with utter contempt. "Shit...I can't believe you're my son!" 

Tom rubbed his smarting cheek with one hand and gave his father a withering look. The whiskey lent him a boldness he wouldn't usually have in the face of this man. 

"Yeah, well, you're not exactly my idea of a father!" He knew he would pay for that, and was not surprised when Owen lunged at him, back handing him hard enough to knock him down. He stayed on the floor, testing to see if his jaw was broken before he spoke. "Feel better?" 

"Get up, Thomas, and get in the shower. You stink! This whole room reeks of you and your booze! I'm not taking you anywhere looking like that. You can at least show some dignity and pride in your uniform, if nothing else!" 

Tom dragged himself up and weaved unsteadily towards the bathroom. "Aw...and here I thought you came because you cared about me." His voice dripped with sarcasm, but he took the wiser course of compliance, rather than risk a real beating. 

Turning his back on Thomas as the younger man trailed into the bathroom, Owen looked around the quarters Thomas had hardly left since the 'accident.' 

Wrinkling his nose in distaste, he shook his head, taking in the litter of empty whiskey bottles and discarded food trays. Thomas had been raised better, and it rankled with the Admiral to think a Paris would allow himself to sink to such depths. 

"Computer...vent this room!" he said softly, moving towards Thomas' bedroom as he heard the mechanical chirp of acknowledgement. 

The bed was unmade and rumpled as though someone had spent a restless night in it. Owen walked over to it and looked down, his eyes attracted by the metallic gleam of something lying on the pillow. 

Owen picked up the discarded hypospray and pressed the small buttons on the butt of it, reading what it contained. Morphine. He swallowed convulsively. 

Dropping the cannister to the bed he turned and strode towards the bathroom. "THOMAS!" he roared. "Move your god damned sorry ass! So help me...I am going to see that you answer for your irresponsibility...once and for all!" 

Hearing his father yelling at him, Tom shrank inside himself. He couldn't believe the power the man had to make him feel small. He was a grown man, for gods' sakes! And yet, the minute his father stepped into a room, Tom was instantly 5 years old again. Frightened, small and defenceless. 

He leaned his forehead against the tiled wall of the shower cubicle, stealing a few more precious seconds before he had to face the man. Taking a few deep breaths, he tried hard to clear his head. 

_Irresponsibility?_ Sighing, he turned off the streaming hot water and stepped out of the shower, reaching for a towel. 

"Hurry it up, Thomas!" Owen leaned on the door frame watching the younger man, his arms folded across his chest, blue eyes cold and distant. "I can't keep the security detail waiting all morning." 

Tom's face registered horrified disbelief as he turned to his father. "You...came here with ...with a security detail? What ... Dad? You wanted to fucking arrest me yourself?!" 

"Mind your tongue, I told you!" Owen stepped forward, expression menacing. 

Tom reflexively stepped backwards, putting space between himself and Admiral Paris. 

"Don't cower, Thomas. You know I cannot stand it. Have a little backbone, boy!" 

"Dad..." Tom spoke softly, placatingly. "I need to get dressed. We have to go. I...I..." He trailed off, watching Owen warily, ready to duck another blow should it come. Swallowing hard, he waited. 

Owen seemed to come back from a great distance, his eyes lost the menacing light and he stepped back a little. "Yes. Of course." The cool, efficient Star Fleet facade slipped into place and Owen stood aside. "Get your clothes on! We've wasted enough time." 

Tom brushed past his father and escaped into the bedroom. Rummaging in the closets he managed to come up with a uniform that was not in too much need of refreshing. He put it on, moving quickly lest he incur Owen's wrath again. That done, he ran a comb through his red-gold hair and attached his com badge to the front of his tunic. Turning to find his father's eyes resting on him with an odd expression, he swallowed. "I'm ... ready, Sir." 

"You're a disgrace to that uniform." Owen muttered and coldly swept past his son, striding to the doors. 

"Tom let his gaze drop to the floor for a moment as he fought for composure. He was determined not to let Owen's jibes rattle him. 

After a moment, he followed Admiral Paris out into the hallway. 

Owen strode ahead of his son, and, as Tom fell in behind his father, he was joined by two young men in security gold. One, human the other, a youthful looking, ebony skinned Vulcan. 

Tom glanced at their faces briefly. 

The Vulcan schooled his vision directly ahead of him, unflinching, impassive. The human looked, if anything, bored. 

_They don't know yet, then._ Tom was mildly relieved by the thought. Why ask for trouble to come calling? He had a feeling there would be plenty of it, soon enough.


	4. Waiting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have used Tuvok in this chapter as it suits my purposes for later in the story. It is a slight departure from canon and not the last one that I will make. I hope you will forgive me. It all works out in the end.

"You are to remain here, until your case is brought." The Vulcan spoke in soft, measured tones. He did not look into Tom's eyes, but focused his attention at some point just over Tom's left shoulder. "You do not have replicator privileges. Your meals will be taken in the common room with the other men. Anything else you require, you may request, from myself or Ensign Laraby." 

"What's your name?" Tom levelled a cool gaze at the Vulcan, forcing him to make eye contact. 

"Why is my name important? You may address me by rank if necessary." 

"Look...it might not seem important to you. But I may be here for a while. I'd prefer to use your name if I may." 

The Vulcan raised an eyebrow as he considered. "Your request is not unreasonable. I am Tuvok, Mr Paris." 

Tom ventured a smile into the impassive eyes of the Vulcan male. "Tuvok. Thanks." Turning away, he moved into the 'quarters' Tuvok had shown him to and took a seat on the single chair in the room. 

Inclining his head slightly, Tuvok touched a control to close the door. His face appeared for a moment in the small observation window and then he was gone. 

Tom sighed and let his head drop into his hands, tangling his fingers into his hair. _Well, this is it. Time to 'tell them.'_

In an office elsewhere in Star Fleet Headquarters, Owen Paris sat in a high backed chair facing a man who equaled him in rank. 

"I am sure we can find some way to make this as quick and efficient as possible, Owen. I am sorry that I can't intervene. The lad was in the wrong and he has to know that. But it needn't get out to anyone who doesn't need to know." 

"I don't want any intervention. Thomas has got to learn, there are certain procedures in Star Fleet. His actions were reprehensible. I want him punished for them!" 

Owen stood up and paced. "However, I do appreciate your concern. I'd like to get this over with as soon as possible, the less people who know about it the better I am pleased, too. I am just sorry it had to be my son." 

Admiral Strawson leaned forward. "What would you like to see happen, Owen?"

* * *

Tom paced the length of his quarters, to the wall, turn and pace back. 

Two rooms were all he was afforded, a living-sleeping-dining area and a bathroom. Every inch of the main room was visible through the observation port which looked out onto the security desk. In the bathroom, a small surveillance camera assured the watching security guards that he was not attempting to escape. 

Tom hated to be locked in. It had always been that way. He figured it was because that was his Father's favorite way of dealing with his strong will when he was a child. 

_"Go to your room at once, young man!_

That had not been punishment. In his room, Tom could escape. Playing for hours with the model ships his mother had given him. 

That, naturally, had not lasted long. When Owen discovered it, he changed his tactics and took to confining Tom in the 'fresher' room. Often the boy would spend hours there, until Owen left the house and his mother would come and let him out. 

Finally giving up on pacing, Tom stretched himself full length on the small, narrow bed. Struggling to make himself comfortable on the ultra thin mattress, he folded his hands behind his head. Drawing a deep breath, he let it out slowly, staring up at the ceiling. 

_I wish mom were here..._ he thought dismally. Sherilyn Paris had been the center of her son's universe. Balancing and making up for his Father's lack of interest in the boy, she had doted on him. 

Tom and Sherilyn had both done their best to make up for Owen in each other's lives. When Tom was old enough to vaguely understand the hurt his mother endured at her husbands whim, he had taken to comforting her when Owen left for work. As he lay there, he thought back to one such time. 

Owen had got out of bed that morning in his usual foul temper and had immediately begun to take it out on Sherilyn, criticizing her house keeping and anything else that happened to annoy him. 

_Which was usually everything!_

* * *

_Disturbed by his father's raised voice, the young Tom got out of bed and made his way slowly down stairs._

_His parent's stood facing each other in the living room. Owen was snarling his usual vindictive tirade at his wife._

_Sherilyn spoke back quietly, her voice never raising above a neutral tone. No-one in the Paris household dared raise their voice to the Admiral._

_Tom watched from his place at the foot of the stairs, unnoticed and keeping a low profile. If his father caught him 'eavesdropping' he knew, he would cop a waling._

_"That's not true, Owen." Sherilyn said softly. "You're being unreasonable. I love you, I do my best to keep things as you like them."_

_"Well, obviously, your best is not good enough, is it?"_

_"Only because you're never pleased with anything I do!" Sherilyn suddenly flared. "I work my guts out trying to please you, Owen, and you're never happy! Do you ever notice the spotless house, the well cooked meals? NO! All you ever see is the single toy, Tommy might leave lying on the floor. Or the tiny scrap of paper accidentally dropped! I'm tired of this, Owen! We're a family not some kind of Federation Unit that must pass inspection every day!"_

_"Don't raise your voice to me, Sherilyn!" Owen growled the words, glancing towards the stairs. His cold blue eyes fell on Thomas. Drawing himself to his full height, which to a five year old Tom was formidable, Admiral Paris glared at his son. "Come here to me, boy!"_

_"Sir..." Tom got to his feet and slowly walked towards his father._

_"Owen..." Sherilyn put a hand on her husbands arm, tugging gently, trying to distract him from the child._

_"STAY OUT OF THIS!" Owen seemed to suddenly erupt as rage exploded from him in almost palpable waves. Sherilyn was thrown to the side, landing heavily against the back of the sofa. She groaned and sank to the floor, one hand clutching at her ribs._

_"LEAVE MOMMY ALONE!" Tom launched himself at his father, tiny fists flailing as he flew to his mother's defence. "DON'T YOU DARE HURT HER! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU! LEAVE MY MOMMY ALONE!"_

_"Tommy!" Sherilyn pushed herself to her feet as Owen's huge hands clamped on the boys shoulders, shaking him viciously. "Owen, please! He's just a little boy!"_

_"Little boy my ass! He seems to think he is man enough to take me on! He will face the consequences of his actions."  
_

 

Tom sighed and rolled onto his side on the bed, remembering the thrashing he had got that day. 

_Owen dragged the struggling child into the fresher room._

_Facing the prospect of being locked up in the darkness, Tommy was spurred to greater rage. "NO! I'm not staying in here! I'm not! you let go of me...you're a bully, I hate you I hate you!"_

_"Shut up, damn you!" Owen slapped Tom full in the face. "I said shut up!" he snarled, another stinging blow landing on the boy's cheek._

_Tom was beyond caring, the sting of his father's hand, rather than calming him, sending him into transports of rage. "I wish you would fucking die!" he screamed, glaring up into his father's haughty face._

_Owen seemed to freeze for a moment as the words registered through his rage. He stared coldly at the boy in front of him._

_"Just where did you learn a word like that!?"_

_Tommy bit his lips, knowing he had pushed too far this time. He watched his father warily. He had never used that word before, though he had learned it very soon after commencing his first year of school. It was a powerful word, he now realized. It had the power to stop his father dead._

_"Answer me, boy! Where did you learn that word?"_

_"At school," Tommy muttered truculently._

_Without another word, Owen turned on his heel and left the room, closing and sealing the door behind him. Within moments, he was back. Shrugging Sherilyn off as she caught hold of his arm and tried to stop him, he stepped into the room and closed the door behind him._

_"Thomas, take down your pants," he said quietly, his blue eyes unreadable._

_Tom looked from his father's eyes to the belt he held coiled in his hand. "Daddy...please..."_

_"Now! Thomas, do as you are told!"_

_"Please, Daddy, please, don't hit me! I'll be good! I wont say it anymore...I promise...Daddy...Daddy...Daddy!!!" Tom shrank backwards as Owen lunged at him, catching hold of his pajama shirt and hauling him closer._

_"Come back here, you little shit! You're going to take your punishment like a man!" Owen roughly jerked Tom's Pajama pants down, exposing his bare behind to the stinging blows of the belt. He held Tom by one arm as his free hand swung the leather strap, lashing him repeatedly. Owen was oblivious to Tom's howls, or Sherilyn's frantic pounding on the door._

_"No! please!" Tommy screamed as the belt cut into his tender skin again and again. "Daddy! Daddy! Noooo!" He struggled furiously against his father's iron grip on his arm, finally managing to break free and scramble into a corner._

_He crouched, hiding his face with his arms as his father continued to thrash him, the belt no longer concentrating on his bared rear, but striking his arms, his back, his legs, while Tommy shrieked in agony and squirmed, trying to escape._

_Tommy didn't know how long the beating continued. The blackness had come before it ended. He woke up, a long time later to find himself aching all over, hugged in his mother's arms, while she wept quietly and spoke to him in soothing tones._

_"We're going away, Tommy...I promise he will never hurt you like that again. We're going far away. I'm sorry, darling! I'm so sorry. Please, please be all right...I'm going to take you away from here...I love you, darling...please..."_

* * *

"Mom..." Back in reality, Thomas Eugene Paris whispered the name of the one person in his life who had ever cared about him. "Oh, mom..." 

He turned onto his belly and buried his face against his folded arms. "I miss you, Mom...so much..." he sobbed quietly, and eventually cried himself to sleep.


	5. Tomlinson

_Stand up, stand up now, Tomlinson,_  
and answer clear and high,  
the good that ye wrought  
for the sons of men,  
ere ever ye came to die.  
~Kipling 

Tom had expected it to go on for weeks...or at the very least, a few days. He was surprised then, when the Enquiry was over within a day and a half. 

They'd asked him to describe in his own words (again) what happened on Caldik prime. Christ...how many more times would he have to relive it? 

But this time, it was different. This time, he gave them the real story, in all it's technicolor glory. This time, his father was present. Stony faced and silent, Owen Paris made no secret of his contempt for his son. 

"I am sure you realize the seriousness of this situation?" Admiral Strawson's voice was cool, but impassive. 

"Yes, sir." Tom kept his chin high, blue eyes fixed on the wall over Strawson's shoulder. 

"Admiral Paris tells me you have something to add to your testimony concerning the accident on Caldik Prime?" 

"Yes, sir." 

"You are aware of the penalties for making false reports, Lieutenant?" 

"I am, sir." 

"Are you sure you wish to proceed with this statement?" 

"Yes, sir." 

"Very well. Have a seat, Lieutenant." Strawson sat down and drew a PADD towards him. "Go ahead." 

Tom took a deep breath and eased his lanky frame into a seat opposite Strawson's desk. 

"I, Lieutenant Thomas Eugene Paris, hereby solemnly swear that this is my true and accurate account of events on Caldik Prime in which the lives of Ensign Charlie Brampston, Cadet First Class, Samuel Linstrom and Lieutenant Junior Grade Caroline Shaw were lost." Tom Swallowed hard, pausing for breath and composure before he went on. 

"On stardate 4124.9 I was assigned to pilot the shuttle craft Rapier on an away mission on Caldik Prime. My companions were the three officers mentioned by myself previously in this statement. 

We flew to the planet and conducted the reconnaissance ordered by our commanding officer and were taking off to return to the ship. I laid in a course which I surmised would compensate for the rocky terrain in our landing area. 

However, I failed to take into account a change in weather conditions which had occured since our landing. The wind had changed direction and we took off in a crosswind instead of into the wind." 

_The simplest, basic drill in aerodynamics and you fucked it up!_

Tom closed his eyes, remembering that fateful mission.

* * *

"Tom!" Caroline slipped into the seat next to his aboard the shuttle and smiled into his eyes, her dark brown ones alight with mischief. 

"Yes, Lieutenant?" Tom smiled back, his eyes travelling appreciatively over her slim form. 

_Gods but she looks good enough to eat...teal is definitely her color!_ He passed his tongue over his lower lip, seemingly an unconscious action but they both knew, he calculated it as a deliberate tease. 

"Tom! stop that! Can't you ever be serious for a moment?" Her brown eyes laughed and took the sting out of her words as she shook her head in mock reproof. 

"Sorry. What's on your mind, Caro?" 

Caroline chuckled and lowered her voice, leaning close to him so that the two junior officers wouldn't hear. "Exactly the same thing that's on yours, hot shot. As soon as we get off duty." She winked and turned to the operations console, hands moving over the sensors. "Let's get this baby airborne, flyboy." 

"Yes, ma'am." Tom smirked, letting her enjoy giving orders for once, even though he outranked her. His hands danced with a graceful rythm over the controls, plotting and laying in a course. 

"You play that thing like an instrument." Caroline said lightly, glancing into his eyes. 

"It comes naturally to me." He returned her glance with a searing one of his own. "And it is not the only 'instrument' I can play, Lieutenant." 

"Yeah...keep your mind on your driving, Maestro," Caroline quipped. As the shuttle lifted off, she glanced back at Charlie and Sam. "Buckle in you two! You know what his driving is like..." 

"Hey!" Tom, said. "That's unfair! When did I ever get us into trouble yet...at least, trouble that I couldn't get out of?" He made a minor adjustment to the flight pattern then glanced back at Charlie and Sam. "You guys trust me, right?" 

"Sure thing, Tom!" Charlie grinned and pulled his safety harness a litte tighter, rolling his eyes at the indignant look the pilot gave him. 

"Oh yeah...absolute faith in you, Tommy Boy!" Sam made a pretence of gripping the arms of his chair, and rolled his eyes in mock terror. "Just get me home in one piece! I promise I'll be good..." 

All four of them burst into laughter, high spirited young friends on a jaunt. Happy to be away from the ship and the daily grind of duty for a few hours. 

"You are going to owe me a serious round of drin...." 

"Warning!" The computer cut in over the light banter. "Portside of vessel in dangerous proximity to surrounding terrain. Correct course immediately. Impact in 13 seconds." 

"Oh shit!" Tom turned to his console, his hands working feverishly to lay in the course adjustment. "C'mon! C'mon!" he muttered, frustrated as his hands seemed to move in slow motion. His eyes franticaly scanned the console, watching the holographic display of their course. "Christ! Come ON!"

"Impact in 9 seconds." 

"God ... oh, God!" Tom felt sick. Cold sweat broke out on his forehead. "Please ... come on! respond, dammit!" He tapped at the console desperately, grace and rythm forgotten in the frantic struggle to bring the craft about. 

"Impact in Eight seconds ..." 

"Fuck!" he muttered his eyes flashing to Caroline's face, seeing the horror registered there. 

"We're going down! Brace!" he shouted, tossing a look over his shoulder at the two terrified young officers behind him. Vaguely aware of the movements of his companions as they prepared to go down, Tom worked on ... panicking as his efforts to right their course seemed only to make matters worse. He palmed his face with one hand as his mind raced through drills, simulations and possibilities. "Oh, God...please, don't let this happen!" 

"Impact in four seconds." 

Tom looked up at the viewport on the front of the shuttle and in desperation, hit a button that would activate a distress beacon for the mother ship. 

That done, he threw himself forward, over the console, face down on the floor, wrapping his arms across his head for protection and prayed. 

"Impact in two..." 

Blackness. Silence.

* * *

"When I regained consciousness, the shuttle was on fire. My crew mates were dead. He left out the details, the stench of burning flesh, the blood splashed across the ops console; And not all of them had been dead. 

Tom would never forget those final moments. 

The way Charlie screamed Tom's name as the flames leaped higher around him. 

The blindness, the choking stench, the sick feeling of utter hopelessness; then finding himself outside the burning wreckage, without knowing how he got there. 

Those details would never see the light of day. Not as long as he drew breath. There was no-one Tom could tell about his own cowardice. How he had run from the burning shuttle and left his friend behind. Only he, and the ghost of Charlie Brampston could ever know. 

Tom sobbed quietly, burying his face in his hands as he leaned forward in the chair. _I should have died, I should be dead too. I should have stayed and tried to get him out ... I'm sorry Charlie ..._

"So you're telling me that the sensors did not malfunction, Lieutenant?" Admiral Strawson's voice remained soft and dispassionate. 

"Yes, sir." Tom kept his head lowered, not daring to look into the eyes of the senior officer. He felt the palpable waves of disgust radiating from where his father sat behind him. 

"You're telling me the shuttle crash was a result of pilot error?" 

"I am, sir." 

"You're very sure you want this entered as your formal testimony." 

"Yes, Admiral. I am sure." 

"Lieutenant, I cannot stress on you greatly enough, the seriousness of your actions in keeping this information to yourself. This kind of offence is subject to a full court marshall." 

"Yessir. I am aware of that. I have told you the truth, sir. I offer no excuse for my actions. I am aware that what I did is a crime under Star Fleet Regulations. I take full responsibility, sir. I plead guilty to the charge of submitting information I knew to be false in a report to a board of enquiry. I plead guilty to tampering with evidence to present a scenario which altered the truth." He tried hard to swallow the huge lump of fear and grief in his throat. 

"I will accept any disciplinary action which my superior officers deem necessary." Tom sat up and met Strawson's eyes. "But, I believe, sir, there is no discipline sufficient to compensate the Federation, or my crewmates' families for what I have done." 

Tom became aware of pain in his hands and glanced down to note that his fists were so tightly clenched that his fingernails had cut into his palms. He closed his eyes, forcing himself to relax. 

There was silence in the room for some time before Strawson spoke. 

"Lieutenant Tom Paris, I am authorized to convene a full court marshall to try you for your actions." He paused, looking down at the PADD in his hand. "However, I am also disposed to be ... lenient in this matter. My respect for your family is long standing and deeply seated. Out of regard for your father, I am going to make you an offer, son." 

Tom held eye contact with Strawson for several beats. "An offer, sir?" 

Strawson nodded. "Your father has requested that you be spared a full court marshall and has made a suggestion which I am willing to take on board."

Tom stared silently into the Admiral's eyes, waiting for the axe to fall. "Yes, sir?" 

"I am willing to offer you a discharge from Star Fleet." 

For a moment, hope soared in Tom's heart. _Out of Star Fleet?_ He watched Strawson quietly, keeping his face impassive. "Sir?" _Maybe I can join the Marines after all...and do what I've wanted to do from the beginning._

"What does the term 'Cashierment' mean to you, Lieutenant?" 

Tom's hopes crashed and fragmented into fiery, bitter debri. "Cashierment, sir..." His voice sounded strangled, even to his own ears. "Dishonorable discharge, sir. With an attendant ban on joining any public service, for life." Something inside him died. 

"Correct." Strawson stared at the young officer in front of him in silence, waiting for him to decide what he would do. 

Tom stood up after a moment and reached for the pips on his collar. Removing them, he held them in the palm of his hand for a moment, then dropped them with two small, hollow clicks on the Admiral's desk. "Thank you, sir. I accept." His breath caught in his throat for a moment and he stifled a sob. 

Turning, he looked into the closed face of his father for a fleeting second. "Good bye, Father," he murmured, stepping past the cold, motionless man and walking to the door. 

He paused for a moment and glanced back at the two men. "Am I free to leave the remand center?" 

"Tomorrow afternoon, Mr Paris." Strawson's voice held an edge of something Tom could not identify. "There are necessary procedures that must be followed." 

Tom nodded. "Aye si..." He couldn't complete the acknowledgement. He stepped through the doors and waited for the Vulcan security officer to join him. 

He was glad of Tuvok's silence as they made their way back to his 'quarters.' There was a lot to be said for the Vulcan economy of speech. He didn't think he could have spoken if he tried. 

And so, it was over. The night passed, the Earth continued to turn and he was a free man. 

Dressed in civilian clothes he stepped out into the Terran sunshine and blinked a few times. Free, except for the weight of guilt that would never leave him. Free but for the monsters in his head that would pursue him till the day he died. 

Free...but for the shadows he saw lurking in the eyes of every Star Fleet Officer he encountered. 

Free...but held captive by his own remorse and sorrow. 

Tom Paris would never truly be free. If nothing else in life was certain, he was at least certain of that.


	6. Cut Loose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some pretty explicit language in this one. Forgive me for the big C word!

"You lying, murdering bastard!" 

Tom heard the words an instant before someone caught hold of his shoulders, dragging him into an alleyway where he was slammed viciously against the wall of a building. 

For a moment, he thought his head would burst. Stars exploded in his eyes and his vision went dark. He had a vague impression of a strong hand gripping the back of his neck as his head was slammed into the wall again. 

"I ought to fucking kill you!" The same, rage filled voice muttered. 

Tom groaned and tried to bring his hands up to protect his head from further pounding against the unyielding concrete wall. 

Desperation lending him strength and making his head suddenly clear, he cursed and twisted in the grip of his attacker. Breaking free of the strong grasp, he staggered and leaned against the wall for support. 

Blearily he turned, trying to get a look at his attacker. He had a fleeting impression of a red uniform shirt, the flash of a combadge. He blinked, trying to focus then doubled over, retching and gasping as a fist slammed into his solar plexus. He collapsed to the pavement, gasping for air, mouth opening and closing like a landed fish as he fought to breathe. 

"That's for Sammy Lindstrom, you murdering cunt! Thank your lucky stars I don't kick your head in too." 

Tom heard the man hawk, felt the warm gob of spittle strike his cheek before the sound of footsteps receding into the distance told him he was alone. He rolled onto his back, making no attempt to rise. 

With shaking hands, he tried to wipe the spit off his face then closed his eyes, sobbing quietly. His head pounded with a blinding agony that threatened to rob him of his senses and the niggling sensation of nausea warned of a concussion or maybe worse. He groaned again and curled onto his side, closing his eyes.

_God...let me die...why didn't he just kill me and be done with it..._ was his last conscious thought.

* * *

Bright, white light burst upon his mind with agonizing intensity and Tom moaned, turning his head to the side in an effort to avoid it. "Owwww..." he said, his voice weak and indistinct. 

"He's coming around." The voice was brisk, quiet and feminine. "Douse that light, Ben! Can't you see it's hurting him?" 

The light vanished abruptly and Tom sighed. "Thanks," he muttered. Moving his head caused a sun to go nova behind his eyes and he groaned, deciding the best course of action was to lie still. "Where am I? What happened?" He tried to open his eyes but found they wouldn't cooperate. 

"Safe, for now. You had a fractured skull, among other things. But you will recover. 

"My eyes..." 

"You have some swelling. It's temporary. Most importantly, you need to rest." The soothing voice calmed him and Tom drew a deep breath. "You're a doctor?" 

"Yes, Doctor Tosia Kamin. I've been caring for you since you were brought in yesterday." She paused a moment. "Do you have any idea who is responsible for this?" 

Tom tried to shake his head, then thought better of it. Wincing he muttered, "No. I didn't see him clearly." 

"Not at all?" 

"Star Fleet." Tom recalled. "Red uniform. I didn't see his face." 

"All right. There will be plenty of time for this later. Right now, I want you to rest." A gentle hand gripped his shoulder for a moment before he heard her move away. 

Tom spent the next few days recovering from his injuries. Gradually, the pain in his head receded. The swelling around his eyes continued to be a problem for a couple of days after he awoke. 

Gentle hands attended to his needs, bathing him, feeding him and keeping his bed fresh and comfortable. Although he couldn't see the face of his nurse at first, he could hear the young man's voice and recognized him by the smell of the cologne he wore. A light, spicy scent; masculine and fresh. Tom found himself looking forward to the intervals when Benjamin Meredith would come to attend him. 

Four days after the attack, his eyes were healed enough to allow him to see. Blurrily he looked around the room he was in. It appeared to be a regular, civilian medical facility. He was glad of that. He would not have felt comfortable to find himself in a Star Fleet Hospital. 

"Well, hello!" a soft male voice said. 

Tom looked at his nurse for the first time. "Hi!" he took in the dark eyes and bronzed skin. The flashing smile and trim physique. "You're Ben..." he stated the obvious and shook his head with a grimace. 

"Yes." Ben chuckled and moved to his bedside. "And you're Tom." he said with a mischievous twinkle to his eyes. "How are the eyes?" As he spoke he picked up a tricorder and waved it over Tom's head. 

"A little blurry." Tom replied, "But better than yesterday." 

Nodding, Ben read the screen of the Tricorder. "That should improve over the next few hours. You should be ready to leave by tomorrow." He glanced into Tom's eyes for a moment. "Mr Paris, we need to know if you remember how you got hurt? Who assaulted you? Doctor Kamin has to submit a report. And since you say it was a Star Fleet Officer who did this...Star Fleet will need to be informed." 

"No." Tom turned his head to the side. "I told you, I didn't see his face, only the uniform. I don't know who it was." 

"All right." Benjamin's voice was soothing. "You will need to make a statement. There are two security officers here waiting to see you, if you're up to it?" 

Tom nodded, "I might as well get it over with," he murmured. "Show them in." 

As Ben turned to leave, Tom pushed himself up a little in the bed, wanting to sit up and present a less vulnerable face than he would lying flat on his back. His head spun for a moment once he was upright and he closed his eyes until it passed. Squaring his shoulders and settling his face into an impassive, mask.


	7. Where to Now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to those who are reading and have kept with me so far. The Maquis parts are coming, bear with me.

Tom stepped out of the hospital and paused a moment, looking around. A part of him was almost afraid to leave the safety of his hospital room. 

Recalling the attack on him after leaving the remand center, he was not entirely secure in the idea of walking around the streets. After a moment, he squared his shoulders and stepped out of the sheltering aura of the medical facility. 

He was faced with the problem of where to go. The quarters he'd occupied before the enquiry were Star Fleet Personnel Quarters. He would not be able to return there, except to collect his personal belongings. Going to his father's home was unthinkable. The alternative was a hotel or lodging center, but neither of those really appealed. 

Thinking of his homeless state, he began to walk slowly away from the hospital. He thrust his hands into his pockets. The wind was cold, with the first hints of fall. Hunching his shoulders, he lowered his head, walking a little faster. 

"Tom!" The voice behind him brought him up short and he turned to see Ben Meredith hurrying after him. 

Smiling, he waited for the nurse to catch him up. "You're not going to tell me I left something behind? I didn't have anything to leave." 

"No." Ben panted his face was flushed and his breath made little puffs of steam in the cool air. "I just wanted to catch you before you left. I've finished my duty shift for the day. Thought I might walk with you ... wherever you're going ... ?" 

Tom chuckled and shook his head. "You really don't need to do that. I am fine." He shrugged slightly and looked along the street, "I am not actually going anywhere ... " 

"What ... you're planning to just wander around the city? Tom, you really should go home, you might be recovered enough to leave hospital, but that doesn't mean you can just go gallivanting about." 

Tom sighed. "I know. I can't go home." His mind brushed across the idea of entering Owen Paris' house and he shuddered involuntarily. 

"Why not?" Ben was instantly all concern. "What's wrong?" 

"You must know my history, Ben." Tom met the other man's eyes. 

"History?" Puzzled, Ben shook his head. 

With another, long drawn sigh, Tom turned away. "I can't go home. I don't have a home anymore." 

"Tom! why didn't you say something? I mean, there are services. We could have arranged something ... " 

"I'm not a charity case, Ben! I have money! I have ... " 

"Whoa ... let's just drop it back to impulse, huh? I didn't mean to imply ... " 

"Sorry ... " Tom muttered, closing his eyes. "Sorry ... please ... I didn't mean to snarl at you. I've been more than a little on edge lately." He looked at Ben and smiled. "Thanks for the concern, but I'll be fine. I'll ... get a motel or something." He began to walk away. 

"Come to my home." Ben spoke impulsively, going after Tom. "At least while you make some other arrangements. "I've got a spare room you can have for a while." 

Tom stopped and turned to the other man. "Thanks for the offer, but ... " 

"C'mon, Tom, what's the matter with you? It's cold, and you have nowhere to go. You could at least come back with me and have something to eat. You can use my coms and find a room." He smiled, waiting for Tom's response. 

Tom stared at Ben for a few moments in silence. The man's generous attitude after the treatment he'd received over the past week or two was refreshing. He sighed, making up his mind. "All right. I'll come." 

"Great!" Ben turned and began walking in the opposite direction then paused looking back. "Well, come on! We might as well hire a cab. I'm getting frozen and I have a coat!" 

The cab trip to Ben's apartment took about 5 minutes. Tom was silent most of the way, lost in his own thoughts and Ben was content to let him alone. 

"This is it," the nurse said as he entered an access code to open the door. 

Tom stepped into a tidy apartment. Soft carpet yielded under his feet and he removed his shoes as a courtesy. "Nice place." Tom said, glancing about. 

The room was functional and Spartan, obviously inhabited by a male, the furnishings plain and practical without the frills and falderals a woman might have added. A large, black leather covered sofa dominated the living area. A squat, smoked glass topped coffee table set before it, with a few periodicals stacked neatly at one end. 

In a corner, a vid screen stood, inactive and behind the sofa, against the far wall, was a desk, piled high with PADDS, books and a small work console. Tom walked over to the desk and glanced at Ben before he picked up a PADD. "D'you mind?" 

"Not a bit. Make yourself at home, Tom ... most of those are Julian's." He indicated the desk with a jerk of his head. "Doctors seem to spend their entire lives reading and studying." As he spoke, Ben shrugged out of his overcoat and hung it on a coat stand before moving into the kitchen area. "Coffee or tea, Tom?" he called. 

"Coffee's fine. Thanks." He scanned the contents of the PADD in his hand, which turned out to be an essay on neural medicine then set it down as Ben came back and offered him a steaming mug of coffee. 

"Take a seat," Ben invited, moving to the sofa and easing himself down. He propped his feet on the coffee table and let out a soft groan as he sipped his coffee. "Man, it's good to get off my feet!" he sighed. 

Tom sat down and sipped the hot beverage, closing his eyes with a small shudder as the warmth began to seep into his bones. 

"Are you chilled? I can get you a sweater ... " 

"No ... I'm ok." Tom smiled and glanced at Ben."Sit there and relax. You don't have to run after me." 

"OK, if you're sure." Ben settled back against the sofa. 

"I'm positive. So ... how long have you been nursing?" 

"This is my fourth year." Ben replied. "I used to work in an office, but I think I found my true calling when I decided to attend nursing school. 

Tom nodded. "You strike me as a very caring person. Nursing suits you." 

"Thanks. What do you do for a living?" 

Tom immediately froze up. Averting his eyes he stared straight ahead and closed his mouth in a thin line. 

"Oops? Wrong question, huh?" Ben set down his coffee mug and turned to face Tom with a small, apologetic smile. "I didn't mean any offence." 

"No, I know. The fact is, I don't have a job right now. I ... was fired a day or so before I was assaulted." Tom avoided Ben's eyes. 

"Oh, rough luck. I'm sorry." 

"Yeah ... so now, I am between jobs, and between addresses." He grimaced and took another reviving sip of Coffee. 

"Well, you're welcome to stay here until you get things sorted out, Tom. I know Jules wont mind. He's hardly ever here anyway. You can take the spare room." 

"I'm not a freeloader, Ben. I have enough money to pay my way. I'll contribute to the rent here or whatever." 

"Sure, we'll work all that out. Let me show you your room." 

Ben got to his feet and led the way along a hallway. "This is mine," he paused a moment and pushed a door open to reveal a neat, Spartan room furnished with a bed, a low boy and little else. "Jules' is across the hall." He indicated with a wave of his hand. "And, this," he went on, moving to the next doorway on the same side of the hall as his own room, "Is the guest room." He showed Tom in. "It's nothing fantastic." Ben ended, letting Tom take his time to look around. 

"It's not a park bench either." Tom quipped and grinned over his shoulder at the other man. 

"True," Ben chuckled and moved to straighten an imaginary wrinkle in the bed covers. "The bathroom is the door right at the end of the hall. There's a fresher in there. We have a roster system for cooking, cleaning the bathroom and running the fresher. 

Julian is not a morning person. I suggest you try not to disturb him. He's a great guy, just grumpy getting started. House rules are fairly basic. Be neat, and don't forget your roster days. The first week you get to be 'pampered guest,' though." He turned to Tom with a grin. "If all that hasn't made you rethink ... then welcome aboard." 

"Thanks, Ben. I really do appreciate this." Tom smiled and glanced around his newfound haven. _You can't know just how much._


	8. Since You've Been Gone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The scenes in the opening of this story are extremely horific. My Dark!Muse was with me in the flesh when writing this. I warn you, if you're at all weak of stomache or can't handle horror, or need to be in the right mood for strong, dark imagery then heed this. Don't read it if you're likely to be squicked (and I was mildly squicked writing it) It involves scenes of violent character death (not murder). The beautiful lyrics are from Phil Collins and Genesis "Since I lost you." 
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> It seems in a moment your whole world can shatter  
> like morning dreams they just disappear  
> like dust in your hands falling to the floor  
> how can life ever be the same  
> cos my heart is broken in pieces  
> yes my heart is broken in pieces  
> since you've been gone  
> ~Phil Collins

_The heat was intense. Flames leaped all around him. The air, filled with dense, black, choking smoke made his eyes stream with tears and caused him to cough. Harsh, racking, coughs that tore the lining of his lungs. Gasping, he inhaled more smoke. Smoke which stank of incinerated flesh, the electrical ozone of burned out consoles and fried relays._

_He choked, dizzy, panicked. Darkness began to close around him. He smelled blood and his own vomit and the all permeating stench of death and burning human flesh. He screamed._

_"Charlie! Where are you...I c-cant..." Another fit of painful coughing. The others were dead. He didn't dare to think of Caroline. Her beautiful body, twisted, profaned by death, torn apart... "God! No...no..."_

_A scream rent the air. "Tooooooaaaaaaagggh! Help me! Aaaaaiiiiieeee!"_

_Charlie! He tried to see through the thick darkness, the smoke and flames blinding him as he crawled across the floor. Got to keep low.. "Charlie!?"_

_A movement, something; it caught his eye and he turned in that direction._

_"Charlie?" There was no answer but Tom was sure. He moved faster, forcing himself to approach the chair where his young friend had been strapped in, laughing, just moments before. His hand slipped in something sticky and wet. He looked down, blood._

_Retching, he dragged himself through it, reached the side of his dying companion. "Charlie!" He touched the young man's face, turned his head so he could look into the fading intensity of once lively, humorous dark eyes. Swallowing, he forced himself to meet the agonized gaze. "I'm sorry, Charlie .. So sorry."_

_"Too ... late ... Tom ..." Charlie's voice was a mere breath as his life ebbed away. "Too late, now. Too late for regrets. You left me. You didn't even come back for me then. Now it's too late. Too late...Too..."_

_As Tom watched, the face of his friend turned dark, the skin blistering under his fingers, flesh oozing and melting away, blood running down over Tom's hands, covering them._

_He tried to look away but couldn't. His eyes remained glued to Charlie as the horrific transformation continued. Skin turned black; the lips peeled back in an agonized snarl exposing hideously white teeth in the charred, black face. He found himself staring into empty eye sockets, the flesh and blood orbs fried away before his gaze._

_He was allowed no escape as Charlie burned beyond recognition in his arms and somehow, the flames never touched Tom._

_"Too late!" The blackened, charred remains screamed and Charlie laughed, long and loud and horrifying. Demented, insane laughter._

_"NOOOOOOO!!!"_

__

Tom cried out with terror and bolted up in his bed. For a moment, his terrified blue eyes darted about the room, seeking the source of his fear, until wakefulness and reality penetrated his sleep fogged mind. He closed his eyes, letting his breath go in a long drawn sigh. "Gods..." he muttered, "When will it end?" 

Scrubbing his face with both hands, he groaned. He needed a drink. He also needed a dose of Morphine, but there was no replicator in his room, and he didn't dare risk going to the kitchen and using the replicator there. The noise would be sure to waken Ben. He got up and prowled about the room concentrating on anything other than the horrors that visited his slumber, or the growing need for alcohol and drugs. 

Tom walked to the door and winced as it slid open, the sound inordinately loud in the sleeping quiet of the apartment. Padding on bare feet, he made his way to the bathroom where he splashed cold water on his face. He needed to pee. Tom took care of that, then turned, eyeing the cabinet above the wash basin. He glanced furtively towards the bathroom door, then stepped over to the cabinet and pressed the release button. 

Wincing as the medicine cabinet released with the hermetic sigh of all medical containers, he stood on tip toes to peer inside. Nothing. A few mild pain killers, a tube of lubricant, a bar of soap and assorted shaving implements. 

"Damn." Tom stepped back from the cabinet and resealed the door. He was just going to have to wait until the morning. He could get something then. He could wait. It wasn't that long till morning. He could do it. 

"I can do this," he muttered to himself. "I don't need it. I can wait." 

He stumbled back towards his bedroom, rubbing at his face as he went. 

"Is everything all right?" The quiet voice in the gloom startled Tom and he had to fight hard not to instinctively flatten himself against the wall. 

"Lights, ten percent," he muttered and blinked a little as his eyes adjusted to the immediate lumination. He found himself looking at a slightly built, dark haired man with olive skin and dark eyes. Puzzling for a moment, Tom searched his mind for a name. "You must be Julian," he said. 

"Julian Bashir." The young man smiled slightly. "Sorry if I startled you. Ben says that 'creeping about' at night is my worst habit." 

Tom nodded. "I'm Tom." He held out a hand, "Tom Paris." He watched the other man closely and didn't miss the faint flicker of recognition in his eyes, but Julian gripped his hand firmly. 

"Pleased to meet you." 

"You're Star Fleet?" 

"Yes, medical. I work here at HQ right now, but will be reposted to the Space Station Deep Space Nine, soon." 

"Oh." Tom looked away, biting his lips and shifted his weight uncomfortably from one foot to the other. _Shit, just what I need, Star Fleet ... and a doctor into the bargain!_

"Look...uh...you don't have to worry," Julian said. His cultured tones soft in the silence that had grown between them. 

Tom returned his gaze to Julian's face, studying the man in silence for a time. 

"Why would I have reason to worry?" His tone was wary, guarded as he studied Julian's open face with narrowed eyes. 

"Well, that's just it," Julian shrugged. "You don't have any reason to," he continued. "Ben told me about what happened to you, and that he's offered you a place to stay. I'm happy with the arrangement." 

"OK." Tom forced himself to relax, letting his shoulders ease out of the stiff, defensive posture he'd adopted. "Sorry," he said softly, not sure why he felt the need to apologize. 

"It's perfectly understandable. From what I've heard, you've had a rough time of it." Julian smiled, his dark, handsome face suddenly lighting from within as he released Tom's hand. "Listen, it's not often I have someone around here who shares my insomniac tendencies...I was about to get myself a midnight snack. Care to join me?" 

"Thanks," Tom replied, "I'd like that." 

Julian nodded briskly and turned, leading the way to the kitchen. "I am a notorious sweet tooth," he cautioned, "How do you like the idea of chocolate ice cream, with peppermint sauce?" 

Tom laughed softly. "Mention chocolate and peppermint in the one sentence and you will have my undivided attention, every time." He walked into the kitchen behind the other man and took a seat at the table. 

"I also like Spice Pudding," Julian said with a chuckle as he tapped in orders on the replicator, "But at this time of night, it might be a tad too rich." 

"And chocolate ice cream with peppermint sauce isn't?" Tom shook his head with a small laugh. 

"Actually, you have a point." Julian conceded. "But I won't tell Ben if you won't. He worries about my health more than necessary." Julian placed the two bowls on the table and laid a spoon next to Tom's hand. "Enjoy!" 

Picking up the spoon, Tom toyed with the rich looking green sauce for a moment then looked at his companion. "I ... didn't wake you, did I?" 

Julian hesitated for the smallest instant, seeming to consider his words. "I was awake. I was reading, but I have to admit, it was difficult not to hear your cries." He took a mouthful of icecream and rolled it around on his tongue a moment before swallowing. "Flashbacks?" 

The question was delivered with the precision and detachment of a medic and Tom blinked a couple of times before he nodded an affirmative. "Sorry." 

"Post traumatic stress can go on for a long time, years in some cases. Have you had any counselling?" Julian studied the blonde man opposite him for a moment, taking in the lines of fatigue in the man's face. Tom was probably around the same age as himself and yet, something in Tom's face made him seem so much older. Julian glanced down at his bowl, swirling peppermint sauce with the creamy brown confection. 

"Not really."Tom finally lifted a spoonful of the desert to his mouth, savoring the sweetness, letting the cold seep into his tongue before he swallowed. Meeting Julian's eyes he sighed, "No-one has offered. I haven't asked." 

"Is there anything you want to talk about? I'm not a counselor as such, but I have been told I listen well." Julian drew a swirling pattern in the chocolate cream with the sauce looking up after a moment to find Tom's eyes studying him with such an intensity that it made him want to squirm. "What is it?" 

"Hmm?" Tom seemed to come back from a distance, blinking and looking into Julian's soft, brown eyes, noting how they glinted a golden amber color sometimes, like now; like when he was sitting here, eating ice cream and peppermint and being asked, genuinely for the first time since Caldik prime, if he wanted to talk about it. "He closed his eyes, letting his eyelids fall over his tortured blue eyes and shook his head. "I'm afraid to." he murmured. "If I let it surface I'll never get it back down again." 

"That's the whole point," Julian spoke softly and laid his spoon in the empty bowl. "Let it out, move on." He sighed softly. "I won't force you." He got up and carried his bowl to the recycler. Turning to Tom he smiled. "The offer's there, though, in case you change your mind?" He moved towards the door. 

Suddenly, Tom didn't want to be left alone. He reached out as Julian passed him and touched the man's hand. It was a small hand, bronze and slim, with veins etched plainly on the back of it. A Surgeons hand. "Please." Tom didn't know what else to say. He only knew that he couldn't bear it if Julian left the room. He looked up into the golden brown eyes. "Please, don't go." 

Julian stared down at Tom for a moment then crouched down beside him, staring deep into the dark, blue eyes of this familiar stranger and smiled. "I'm here," he said quietly. "I'm here for you."


	9. Confrontation is better than avoidance

Tom opened his eyes, rolling onto this back and blinked up at the ceiling for a moment or two, trying to remember where he was. A soft movement, and a sighing breath beside him startled him and he turned his head sharply to find himself gazing into a pair of equally puzzled, golden brown eyes. 

He sat up quickly, blinking in surprise then memory flooded back. He recalled the horrific nightmare that had woken him, sending him on a midnight search for something, anything to numb the pain and quiet his mind enough to sleep. 

Then, meeting Julian in the hallway and sharing ice cream and peppermint sauce with him. 

They'd talked, it seemed for hours, until Tom had remembered with a guilty start, that Julian was a doctor and probably had worked long hours or had a shift the next day. 

When he tried to apologize though, Julian shook his head: 

"No, it's all right. I really don't mind, and I am off tomorrow anyway." Julian glanced at the Chrono. "Today, that is."He smiled softly and stood up. "Do you think you will be able to sleep now? I ... could give you a sedative if it helps?" 

Tom shook his head. "No, I'll be fine." He got to his feet as well and they stood there a moment, gazing at one another as the silence stretched between them. 

Somehow, suddenly, Tom found himself in Julian's arms. He sighed and closed his eyes, nuzzling the man's neck as more by instinct than conscious thought they embraced, then he felt Julian's mouth gently nuzzle it's way from his ear to his cheek. When their lips met Tom groaned, long and low, his knees going weak as Julian's tongue gently found it's way into his mouth. 

The doctor's tongue still tasted of the sweet dessert they had shared and Tom eagerly sucked it, savoring the traces of chocolate and mint. He felt a shiver run through the slight frame of the other man and he pulled back, gazing into the hazel eyes that looked back at him with mingled bewilderment and wonder. He lifted a hand and gently cupped Julian's chin, resisting the urge to plunder those soft, kiss swollen lips a second time. 

"Julian ..." his voice was a ragged whisper. "I ..." 

"Shhh ..." Julian pressed a finger over Tom's lips. "Don't ... don't say anything, just ... stay with me." 

So now, here he was, waking up in the bed of a man he'd known for exactly 8 hours, and whom he'd fallen into bed with not three hours after meeting him. Tom palmed his face with one hand, trying to work out exactly how he felt about that and nearly jumped out of his skin when a warm, gentle hand caressed his spine, running upwards from the small of his back to his neck. 

"Are you all right?" Julian's voice was soft, light, possessing a timbre and a quality, lightly accented that caused Tom's pulses to jump with delight just to hear it. He turned, then moved to lean on an elbow, looking down at the darkly beautiful man. 

"Yes. I ... Just ... I don't usually do this ..." 

"Do what?" Julian asked with a faint smile. "Fall into bed with a total stranger ... or wake up feeling guilty about it the next morning?" 

"Both," Tom responded wretchedly. 

"Well, neither do I. And I am not going to _start_ doing the latter now." He reached up, pulling Tom's head down for a brief kiss. "I don't feel guilty, and I don't think you need to either," he murmured. 

"So, " Julian released Tom and sat up on the side of the bed. "Have you got anything planned for today?" 

"Yes." Tom's voice was quiet as he replied. "I need to go to my old apartment, there are some things there I need to collect." He paused. "And...I have something at my ... at Admiral Paris' home which I want to get as well." 

Julian turned to look at Tom, admiring the man's lean, muscular body openly. He smiled. "Maybe I could come along? I haven't got anything else to do." 

Tom hesitated for a moment, then shrugged. "Sure, why not?" he smiled into Julian's eyes. "I warn you though, you will probably end up doing pack horse duty. 

Julian chuckled. "Ah ... that's not a problem. Besides, you will save on cab fare. I have a ground car."

* * *

Tom Finished loading the last box of his belongings into the back of Julian's ground car then turned to look back at the apartment complex that had been home to him for the last year. He sighed, not sorry to be leaving. _There are too many ghosts in that place,_ he thought and turned to the car, pressing the control to lower the rear hatch, he moved to the front of the vehicle and climbed in. 

Julian turned to smile at him. "I thought you said you had a *few* things?" his hazel eyes twinkled with amusement. 

"So I lied. I didn't want you to back out on the offer to help me." Tom responded with a grin. 

Julian laughed. "So, will we need to unload this lot before we go to Admiral Paris' home?" He was careful not to use the term 'Your father,' remembering Tom's avoidance of that term earlier. 

"No." Tom's face sobered as he replied. "I have only got one thing I want to take from there. I just hope we manage to arrive while he's out. "Lindy will let me in." 

"Lindy?" Julian watched the expressions that flitted across the enigmatic young pilots face. 

"Housekeeper." Tom's reply was matter of fact. "She is great, if Da...if Admiral Paris is not home I might even talk her into giving us some of her famous homebaked cookies." His face lit with a sudden grin. "God! I haven't had any of those for years." 

"All right, let's go then." Julian started the engine and guided the car away from the curb. 

Tom was silent most of the way to his father's home. Except for once or twice when he gave Julian directions on a more direct route, he remained enveloped in his own thoughts. 

He had not set foot inside his father's house for nearly three years. During his days in academy he had lived at home, but life had become increasingly intolerable as his father applied greater pressure to Tom to succeed in his academic pursuits. Finally, it had become too much to take and he had moved into a dorm at the academy with Charlie and a few other cadets. 

They drove into the "service" quarter of San Fran Cisco. Here, the upper echelon of Star Fleet Officers had their Fleet provided, and fleet built homes. Luxury was the only word to describe them. 

Sweeping driveways led up to sleek, standard white houses that gleamed in the early autumn sunshine. Windows discreetly shielded by the tinted solar shields used in starship design, blocked the unwelcome gaze of passers by. Many of the houses boasted lawn areas, something unheard of in other parts of the city where the focus was on functionality rather than aesthetics. 

Julian looked around as the car rolled along the wide street that Tom indicated as that where his fathers home was. 

"You grew up here?" His voice was mildly incredulous. 

Tom nodded. "Yeah, for the most part." 

"Impressive." Julian guided the car to a stop outside one of the larger dwellings and looked over at Tom. "Although, I have to admit that I would have been afraid to actually play here." 

"Oh, that was never a problem." Tom smirked. "Admirals' sons don't play. Our sole purpose in life is to learn and to be trotted out at dinner parties to impress our fathers' friends and colleagues with our intelligence and academic prowess." 

Julian winced, noticing the edge of bitterness in Tom's voice and turned his eyes towards the house. Neither of them spoke for a few moments. 

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Julian asked quietly. "Perhaps you could have whatever it is you want sent on to you?" 

"No." Tom set his mouth in a grim line. "I can do this. I want to collect this item personally." 

"All right," Julian opened the doors of the vehicle and the two men stepped out. 

Tom stared up at the house for a long time in silence before he moved forward, walking up the cement stairs that led to the ornate front door. He pressed the door chime and they waited. 

Not a sound came from inside the house and Julian was beginning to think no-one was present when the door suddenly slid open and a middle aged woman stood looking at them both. 

The woman stood about five feet eight, with softly curled gray hair which framed her small, finely featured face and made her look eternally young. Although her face was lined, there was a youthfulness of expression and her eyes were lively, twinkling green. She was slim and Julian felt that when she was younger she would have been stunningly beautiful. The kind of beauty that doesn't fade with age so much as it mellows into a soft, pretty elegance that was still just as breathtaking. 

Julian smiled at her and straightened his shoulders unconsciously as she looked him over with no trace of recognition, then turned her eyes to the tall, blonde man at his side. 

Instantly her face broke into a wide, delighted smile. "Tommy!" she cried, stepping forward to envelop his lanky frame in a warm, welcoming hug. 

"Lindy..." Tom's greeting was soft, full of emotion and Julian realized that there was more than just a housekeeper relationship here. He lowered his eyes, smiling slightly at the obvious love these two showed for one another. 

"My boy! My boy!" Lindy was saying. "Come along in! Your father is out at the moment, but you'll be waiting for him?" 

Tom sighed softly, not offering any reply to her question and followed Lindy into the house. 

She led the way into the living room and told them to sit down while she made them something to drink and fetched some biscuits. Her sparkling green eyes rested on Julian for a moment and Tom spoke softly. 

"Lindy, this is Doctor Julian Bashir. My roommate." 

"Pleased to meet you, Doctor." Lindy smiled and nodded. 

"Julian, please." Julian smiled unable to resist the infectious good humor of this woman. He turned to Tom as Lindy bustled out to the kitchen to fetch coffee and cookies. "She rather reminds me of the kind of English Nanny one meets in holofiction," he said with a smile. 

"Absolutely!" Tom replied, "I used to think, when I was a kid, that she was Mary Poppins in the flesh." 

Both men laughed before lapsing into companionable silence. Julian looked around the living room which didn't seem to have experienced much actual living. 

Everything had a neat, new pristine feel to it. More like shipboard quarters than a home. He studied the spines of some books on a shelf on the other side of the room, trying to make out the titles and failing. 

"They were mine." Tom's voice was quiet as he followed Julian's gaze. I left them when I moved out. Some of them are classics. Some text books. "He got up and walked over to the bookshelf, running a finger along the books. "I'm surprised that he still has them." He shrugged then took one of the books, an ancient looking, leather bound volume with gilt embossed writing on the spine off the shelf, staring down at it. "Twenty Thousand Leagues Under The Sea." He said, running his fingers across the title. 

"Ah!" Julian stood too and moved to stand next to Tom. "I seem to remember reading that...something about a...submarine? and Captain Nemo?" 

Tom nodded. "Yes, it was quite a fantastic story for the time it was written in. There was no such thing as a submarine then. Verne was an imaginative writer, I devoured this; and Journey to the center of the earth when I was about twelve. "He smiled and turned the book over in his hands before replacing it. "I guess it is why I love the sea." 

Julian smiled glancing at the book then turning his eyes to Tom. "Why did you leave them?" 

"Tom sighed softly. "I left in a bit of a hurry. Besides, there was no room in a dorm for such things." 

"Here we are..." Lindy's cheery voice broke in on the two men as she returned carrying a tray with a coffee pot, two cups and a plate of cookies. 

Tom moved back to sit on the sofa. 

Watching him, Julian noted how Tom perched himself on the edge of the seat, in an unconscious indication that he was not intending to stay. He moved to a seat of his own and accepted a cup of coffee and a small plate with two cookies perched on it from Lindy. 

They spent about 30 minutes sipping coffee and eating the cookies the housekeeper plied them with before Tom stood up and looked into Lindy's eyes. 

"Do you mind if I go up stairs to my old room, Lindy? There's something I want to take back to my new apartment. 

Lindy laughed. "You are a one, Tommy! Of course it is all right. This is your home! You don't need to ask permission to go up." 

Tom merely smiled and met Julian's eyes for a moment before he turned towards the stairs. Assuming he was meant to follow, Julian set down his cup and got to his feet, thanking Lindy for the refreshments before he mounted the stairs behind the blonde man. 

Tom entered a small bedroom which had the same pristine, unlived in atmosphere as the living room and walked straight to a dresser by the window, lifting an object in his hands. 

Julian moved to Tom's side and smiled when he looked at the beautiful model sailing ship in the other man's hands. "Incredible!" he said softly. 

Tom looked into Julian's eyes. "My mother sent me the kit for this when I was eleven." He sighed, turning the ship around in his hands, "It took me three years to finish building it." His voice took on a soft, reminiscent tone. 

Julian smiled. "What ship is it a model of?" 

Tom shrugged lightly, "I named her the Pandora. I don't know if that is what ship she's modeled on, but I liked the name." 

"This is what you came back for, isn't it?" Julian studied Tom's face quietly. There was so much to this man that was not apparent on the surface. He wanted to find out more about him, but there was a quality in Tom that made asking a straight question off limits. He sighed then indicated the stand on the dresser. "Would you like me to carry that?" 

"Please." Tom looked up from his reflective gaze at the ship in his hands. "And I think we should go. I don't want to be here when the Admiral returns." 

"All right." Julian picked up the stand and they made their way back down the stairs. 

"Are you sure you wont stay until Admiral Paris returns?" Lindy's eyes showed mild disappointment as she spoke to Tom. 

"You know that wouldn't be a good idea, Lindy," Tom replied softly. "Whatever chance my father and I might have had to settle our differences passed a long time ago. He smiled at her and bent to kiss her cheek. 

Lindy sighed. "All right then, Tommy," she said softly, her green eyes searching his face. "Whatever you think is best." She returned his kiss and moved to show them out. 

Pausing by the book case as Tom walked out into the entrance hall with Lindy, Julian took the Antique volume by Jules Verne from the shelf and tucked it under his arm. He had seen the look in Tom's eyes when he looked at it earlier and sensed it was every bit as important to him as the Pandora. 

He stepped into the hall, just in time to find Tom and Lindy face to face with a tall, cold looking man whom he assumed must be Admiral Owen Paris.

***

Tom stared in silence into the cold blue eyes of his father for several moments, each waiting for the other to be first to break the silence. 

In the end, though he'd spent all those moments telling himself he wasn't going to, it was Tom who spoke first. 

"Hello, Father." He said. His expression was carefully veiled, revealing nothing of what was going on inside his head. He met Admiral Paris' gaze levelly, unflinching. Making a brave face of it for the sake of Lindy and Julian. 

"Thomas." Owen Paris looked his son over with obvious distaste. "Why are you here?" 

"I am just leaving." Tom replied. "I came to get my model. I wont take up anymore of your precious time." 

Julian watched the exchange between father and son with interest. He frowned at Admiral Paris' obvious displeasure. Even the most estranged of parents usually made _some_ effort to be civil if there were strangers present. He sighed, looking from Admiral Paris to his son and back again. 

Lindy stepped forward. "Admiral," she said softly, "perhaps we could invite Tom to stay for dinner?" It was a weak attempt at distraction and it was immediately vetoed, with equal vehemence by both men. 

"Lindy, I'm sure you have something else to do rather than stand in the hallway?" 

The hint from Admiral Paris was unmistakable and Lindy quickly withdrew, brushing past Julian with a hurriedly whispered, "Get Tommy out of here," on her way. 

Julian covered the small distance between himself and Tom quickly and put a hand on Tom's elbow. "Shouldn't we be going?" he asked, softly. "We've got what you came here for. He cast the Admiral a brief, almost withering glance and tried to urge Tom forwards. 

"And who might you be?" The Admiral fixed Julian with an unwavering glare, blocking the hallway with his tall frame. 

"He's Doctor Julian Bashir, father." Tom's voice held a brittle edge and Julian glanced at him quickly. 

"Tom...come on. Let's go." Julian looked up at Owen Paris. "If you'll excuse us, sir?" 

Owen stood aside and Julian practically shoved Tom forward. 

"Don't dare to set foot in my house again, Thomas." Owen's voice was soft, the contempt plainly audible. "This is not your home anymore. As far as I am concerned I no longer have a son. You might bear my name, but that is where it stops, Thomas." 

Julian felt the tension in Tom's body through the fabric of the blonde man's shirt, although nothing changed outwardly to show Tom's reaction, Julian could feel him winding tighter and tighter. He cast a worried glance at the stoney faced young pilot and urged him forward again. "Tom...let's just go, all right?" 

"Do you hear me, young man?" Owen raised his voice. "I have nothing but the greatest contempt for you! You're a cheat, a liar! A coward and a drug addict, and as if that's not enough, are you a faggot too?" 

Tom stopped in his tracks, back ramrod straight. His chin went up and his eyes narrowed. 

Julian bit his lip. "Tom!" he said urgently. "Leave it...he's not worth it. Come on!" He watched helplessly as Tom shook him off and turned to face his father. 

"What the hell would you care what, or who I am? All that matters to you is that I'm not the perfect Star Fleet Admiral's son..whatever the hell that may be!" He took a step towards his father. "You tell me you don't have a son anymore! Do you think I even _care?_ I hate you Admiral Owen Paris! With every breath that is in me and with everything I am! I hate you! You drove my mother away, and then you kept me from her. You..." 

"Tom!" Julian tried to drag Tom back, watching as the Admiral's face flushed scarlet with rage, growing redder with every word Tom said. 

" _You_ didn't want me or care about me, but you didn't want mom to have me either. All I ever was to you was a pawn in your power games over mom! I don't care if you think I'm not your son anymore...I stopped thinking of _you_ as my father a _long_ time ago!" He turned and shoved the Pandora into Julian's hands, advancing on Owen again. 

"I've been waiting for the day when I could say this to you, Admiral Paris. You're worse than contemptible. And whatever I am ... I'm what _you_ made of me!" 

"GET OUT!" Owen suddenly exploded into action. His hand slashed across Tom's cheek with a resounding crack. "GET OUT AND DON'T EVER COME BACK!" He raised his hand again, but stopped when Julian quickly stepped in between him and the object of his wrath. 

"We're going," Julian said between gritted teeth. "If you touch him again, I am going to forget I am a doctor!" 

"How noble of you." Owen sneered. "Fine! if you want to waste your time on that sniveling coward, go ahead. Just take him out of my sight." He gave Tom one last contemptuous glance. "You're your mother's son, Thomas, and no doubt of it. Just as worthless as she is too." 

For the first time, the barbs seemed to go home. Tom sobbed audibly and seemed to shrink inside of himself, he allowed Julian to lead him out of the house and down to the car, climbing into it in silence, his face pale and stricken. 

Julian quickly slid behind the driver's console of the car and started it. Fuming, he engaged forward gear and steered the car abruptly away from the kirb with a protesting howl from the overtaxed engine. 

"Warning," The feminine voice of a computer chimed in. "Sudden acceleration from stationary position is not recommended." 

"Oh, shut up!" Julian muttered fiercely, tapping a button to engage manual override. He increased the acceleration, wanting to get as far away from Admiral Paris and the sickening scenes he'd witnessed as possible. 

"Warning, you are in danger of exceeding the maximum speed limit, this is a restricted speed area." 

Julian growled and hit another control, bringing the car back to an acceptable speed. "Dammit! One is not even a liberty here to vent frustration on an inanimate object! So tied into the damned system!" 

"It's all right, Julian." Tom spoke for the first time since he had left his father's house. "We don't have to kill ourselves for _him_. Find something worth burning out your car's engines over." He forced a brittle smile and turned to gaze out the window. 

Julian released his breath on a heavy sigh. "I don't understand that attitude. I've lived with it all my life, yet it still...it's so maddening what is it with some people that makes them so reactive to what...to wh we are? 

Tom shrugged, keeping his gaze fixed on the passing scenery, he didn't want to look towards Julian. Not yet, not while he knew his raw, wounded spirit might still be visible in his eyes. "Fear, maybe." he said quietly. "I don't know. I try to ignore it when I can. There are more people who accept us at face value than there are who can't." 

Julian set the car's automatic guidance system to drive them home and leaned back, looking at his passenger quietly. "Sometimes, it is impossible to ignore though, isn't it?" 

"Don't go there." Tom replied. "Not now, Please." His voice was muted, soft as though speaking was an effort. 

"All right," Julian reached out and touched Tom's shoulder. "I'm sorry, Tom." 

"Not your fault ... but I appreciate it." Tom said. 

After some time, Tom turned to look at Julian and offered him a semblance of his usual bright smile. "Thanks ..." he said simply. 

"Don't mention it," Julian returned the smile then turned his attention to the controls of the ground car as they made the approach to their apartments.


	10. The Thief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, in reward for your patience. Chakotay!

Thomas Eugene Paris: drunkard, lowlife, addict, hustler and cheat - and  
those were just the things his friends said about him - sat in a bar in  
Marseilles, nursing a whiskey and a sore head.

Swirling the pale liquid in the glass, he stared at it, watching the play of  
light on it's surface and heaved a deep sigh. He had no money. This would be  
the last glass of whiskey he saw, unless he could figure a way to get some  
ready cash. Short of robbery, Tom didn't know what he would do. He had  
hustled his way through most of the regular patrons of the billiard hall,  
come booze bar known as Sandrine's and he had little doubt that his welcome  
at the pool tables was rapidly running out.

Of course, there was one other way, other than theft, he had a saleable  
commodity, he knew it; saw it in the eyes of patrons in the bar. Male and  
female alike had looked him over, assessing him, but that would be done only  
as a last resort. He closed his eyes, muting a small groan and tossed back  
the remaining whiskey with a shudder. He would have to find some other way.

Work was a possibility, he'd had a job, for a little while back in San Francisco   
When he'd been with Julian. He pushed the thought aside. Too late. The image  
of Julian's shocked face and accusing eyes flashed into his mind, and  
refused to budge until he had relived every moment of those final weeks.

Tom set the empty glass down on the bar, staring into it's mocking emptiness  
as he remembered that day.

Caught in the act, his hand in the medikit, the hypo in his other hand, and  
Julian standing silent and pale in the doorway.

"It's you!" Julian accused, moving to snatch the hypo out of Tom's hand.  
"You've been stealing medical supplies!"

"Morphine to be more exact," Tom said softly. "Let's keep it straight. Just  
a shot or two. It's no big deal."

"No big deal?" Julian was incredulous."How can you say it's no big deal,  
Tom? One shot...half a shot...how could you do this? I've trusted you,  
helped you. Got you a job. Shit, Tom what the hell are you thinking?"

_Things went decidedly down hill from there,_ Tom recalled.

He'd lost his job, naturally. No-one wants to employ a thief, especially one  
who has a three hypo sprays a day morphine habit combined with his  
alcoholism.

Julian and Ben had tried to help, offered him medical treatment - also known  
as being locked up in a medical facility and denied any drugs or booze until  
he 'dried out.' - Detoxification they called it. Tom snorted.

"I'd prefer to remain _intoxicated_ if you don't mind...listen, you don't  
 _owe_ me anything. I'll leave. You don't have to try and rescue me. Talk to  
my dad...I'm irredeemable."

Sighing and pushing the past back into the past, Tom Paris got to his feet  
and turned away from the bar. The nightmare was not over, it would never be  
over, and now he faced the additional problem of figuring a way to at least  
keep the ghosts at a tolerable distance.

He took a step towards the door and was brought up sharp by a hand on his  
arm.

"You'd better have a damned good reason for touching me, and it had better  
involve cash," he muttered, turning bleary eyes to the man who held him.

"Well, that answers my first question," the dark haired man replied.

He was not as tall as Tom but made up for the lack of height with his  
thickset bulk. Not an ounce of fat on him, Tom noted, just a solid, stocky  
build, an impression of coiled power and some kind of whacko tattoo across  
the lefthand side of his forehead. Tom ran his eyes down over the man's  
body then back to his face.

"Maquis," he stated flatly. "Whatever you're selling, I bought last week."  
Tom shrugged the man's hand off and made to step past him.

"You haven't heard my offer yet." The man applied the slightest pressure to  
Tom's chest with one hand, but it was enough to force Tom back onto the bar  
stool. "It's rude to walk out on someone without at least offering them a  
hearing. I need to talk with you, Tom Paris, and I expect you to listen."

"All right." The Paris trade mark arrogance slipped into place as Tom folded  
his arms across his chest and leaned back against the bar. "Buy me a drink,  
and I'll give you until I finish it to say what's on your mind, Maquis."

"Isn't 07:30 a little early to be drinking?"

Tom snorted, "It's a little late to stop..." he paused in an obvious hint  
that he was searching for a name.

"You can call me Captain." The dark haired man slipped onto the stool next  
to Tom's and lounged against the bar, like a panther, or a wolf, lounging  
and surveying it's prey at leisure before the kill.

Tom laughed. "You buy me a drink, and I will call you whatever you like. No  
drink, no talk." Tom slipped off the stool and rounded on the Maquis with a  
snarl when the man grabbed him and shoved him back onto the stool.  
"I warned you once already about putting your hands on me, Maquis! I will  
back it up next time if that's what you want!"

"We can fight all you want, Paris, after I talk, and if you will sit here  
and listen politely I will get you that drink, but not until I have said  
what I came here to say!" The man stood up, effectively cutting off any  
route of escape and leaned forward. "Now, do we have an arrangement, or do I  
leave?"

Tom swallowed, doing his best not to shrink against the bar. The power of  
the man up close was almost tangible, and Tom couldn't deny, heady. He was   
attractive in a way that Tom didn't want to acknowledge. He licked his lips  
and pushed a hand through his hair, noticing for the first time, that it was  
a greasy, tangled mass of limp curls. Suddenly that mattered to him. It  
mattered a lot. He felt himself redden under the hot, steady glare of the  
Maquis captain and lowered his eyes. "I'll listen."

"Good. I was told you have a trace of sense once you get past the bullshit."  
The Captain resumed his seat and studied Tom for a few moments before he  
said: "We recently ran into heavy fighting near the badlands. Federation and  
Cardassians...I lost my pilot." He shot Tom a quick glance. "I heard you're  
a flyer. I heard you're good. What do you say, can you pilot a maquis  
fighter?"

"I can. Whether or not, I _will,_ is the question, Captain. Right now, I  
don't think so."

"I'm willing to pay. The Maquis don't need volunteers, we pay our way and we  
also pay our crews. Though being Star Fleet you've probably heard that we're  
a disorganized bunch of rebels who don't have the first idea about how to  
run a war. They're wrong, Paris. Very wrong, and soon they will find that  
out."

Tom snorted and looked into the compelling, dark eyes of the stranger. "You  
couldn't pay me enough, Captain. I don't have any interest in piloting your  
ship." He stood up and headed towards the door, and this time, the Maquis  
didn't stop him. "Thanks for the entertainment...oh and you can forget the  
drink. I'm not that thirsty."

He left Sandrine's and made his way along the street in the early morning  
sunshine. It hurt his eyes and he narrowed them against the glare, wishing  
the throbbing in his head would ease. He knew that it would not though, one  
glass of whiskey was not enough to ease the morning headache, and he needed  
to get some morphine too, or the pains would really start. He drew a deep  
breath and let it out, pausing on a corner to look around. Something had to  
turn up. It seemed to be his luck that usually, when he was down to his last  
drink or his last shot, something did.

_Something has turned up,_ a small voice in his head reminded him.

"Yeah sure! If I'm gonna sell myself out to the Maquis, I might as well sell  
my ass on a street corner. I've seen the way he looked at me.

_And you liked it!_ the voice goaded.

Tom sighed and looked back towards Sandrine's briefly. There was no sign of  
the Maquis Captain on the street. He bit his lips and turned away, shaking  
his head. "No. No matter what anyone thinks or says, Tom Paris is no whore."


	11. Pursued

Tom wandered aimlessly through the streets of Marseilles. He loved this  
city, had come to love it when he'd been stationed here during his academy  
days. The Continetnal sunshine, the friendliness of the French people had  
captured his heart and his imagination.

Marseilles: the place he decided to come to when his life with Ben and  
Julian finally fell apart in the States. No-one knew him here, no-one would  
care if he drank himself to death. He'd used what little money he had saved  
to get him a passage to France on a transport, and hustled his way to  
Marseilles.

Finding his way, one rainy night to Sandrine's, he had made it his part time  
home. The kind hearted, red haired owner of the bar had made him her special  
project. She offered him a bed and board, and he made some credits here and  
there by playing pool, or now and then, thumping out a tune on the old  
upright piano in the corner. Lately though, even those money spinners had  
begun to fall by the wayside.

He was unable to focus his mind enough to play the piano anymore, and his  
game was slipping, he lost more often than he won. Soon, though he tried  
hard to deny it, whoring would be the only way to make enough to keep  
himself in booze and drugs. Even that, would only last as long as his looks  
remained and Thomas knew that the drinking and drugs were stealing even those.

Thomas Eugene Paris, was a washup. Finished, at twenty-six. He stopped  
walking and leaned against a wall, closing his eyes as he tried to steady  
the irregular thumping of his heart.

He swallowed hard and shook his head. "Christ...why can't I just find the  
guts to finish this?" _It would be so easy...just a little too much  
morphine. A drink or two too many ..._

"No!" he pushed away from the wall. "You're not getting me." He walked  
quickly, trying to evade the small voice that followed him wherever he went.  
"I wont hawk my ass, and I wont kill myself either." He knew the monsters  
that pursued him were waiting, just the other side of the line between life  
and death. Life was bad, sure, but he wasn't ready to throw himself into  
their arms either.

"Hey, Tom!" A voice called to him, and Tom stopped, looking around, shading his  
eyes from the sun with one hand.

"Don't I know you?" He heard footsteps approaching him and dimly made out  
the outline of a tallish man, in starfleet uniform.

_Oh shit...just what I need._

"I doubt it," Tom muttered and started to walk again.

"Sure...sure. You're Tom Paris!"

"No...you're wrong. I..." Tom stopped as the stranger blocked his path.  
"Look, just let me pass, huh? I don't want any trouble. I don't know you.  
I'm not who you think I am."

"Hey, relax. I'm not making trouble. I know you..You're Tom we were  
..."

"No!" Tom turned on his heel and headed back the way he'd come.

"Hey!" The man followed him. "Tom, c'mon...wait up."

"Leave me alone!" Tom yelled and broke into a run. "I don't know you. I'm  
not Tom Paris...I'm not...I.." He ran as though the devil himself was on his  
heels, desperate to get away.

Running blindly, Tom was unsure of where he was going. He only knew that he  
had to get away, away from anyone who knew him and knew his past, away from  
the ghosts that haunted him. Away from the burning need that raced in his  
veins screaming out to be appeased. He turned down a side street and  
stumbled on the uneven ground, pitching headlong. He struck his head hard,  
against something solid. There was a flash of light behind his eyes, an  
instant of pain and then darkness.

He woke, slowly, hours later. His head was splitting by the feel of it, and  
his tongue was swollen and furry. He groaned and rolled onto his back.  
"Shit."

He struggled to sit up and regain his equilibrium, ashamed to find that he'd  
lain unconscious in a pile of trash for gods knew how many hours.

Shaking his head to clear it, he moaned, gagged and threw up, choking on the  
bitter vomit as it seemed to catch in the back of his throat. He gasped for  
air and struggled to his feet, staggering to the end of the alley and  
leaning on the wall for support as he tried to breathe and focus his eyes.

After a few moments he staggered out of the alley and by some instinct  
turned towards the only place he knew that offered any kind of haven

Somehow, Tom made it back to Sandrines, although later he would have no  
memory of how. All he knew was that his head pounded with agony and every  
step he took seemed to knife through his body straight to his tortured  
brain. He shivered uncontrollably and had to stop several times along the  
way to be sick.

His vision was dark, his stomach churned with unrelenting nausea and he barely  
had the strength to drag himself to his room and collapse when he finally  
made it home. He lay there for a long time, convinced that he was going to  
die.

It was Sandrine who finally sought him out, coming to his room just as  
evening fell. She took one look at him and sent for a doctor.

The doctor and Sandrine both tried, to no avail, to convince Tom to go to  
hospital. He was severely concussed. He refused, promising the doctor that  
he would rest.

After securing Sandrine's promise to take care of Tom and call him should  
anything happen, the Doctor left.

Tom slept a few hours, lulled by the pain killer the doctor administered to  
him, but was driven from his room late in the evening, craving the noise and  
bustle of the crowded bar.

Finding a seat at a table set apart from the room a little, he accepted  
Sandrine's offer of a glass of water, touched by her concern and grateful  
for her friendship. Sometimes it seemed to Tom that Sandrine was the only  
person left in the world who truly gave a damn about him. He smiled at her  
as his eyes met hers for a moment while she worked.

"Well, I see you came back." The voice at his left startled Tom slightly and  
he turned to encounter the smouldering gaze of the Maquis captain.

"I live here, what's your excuse?"

"I've been waiting to see you." The dark haired man nodded toward's Tom's  
glass. "I still owe you a drink."

"Yeah well, I distinctly remember telling you not to worry about that,  
Captain."

"That's a nasty bump you have on your head. Trouble?"

"Nothing I can't handle."

"My offer is still open. I could use a good pilot, I've heard you're the  
best there is." The Maquis persisted.

"You heard right." There was no trace of arrogance or boasting in Tom's  
voice, it was a statement of fact, no more than that. "But it seems you have  
a hearing problem when it comes to your offer. I'm not interested."

Tom watched the man for a moment then turned his attention to the rest of  
the room, dismissing the Maquis from his thoughts. Sandrine was standing  
next to the bar, watching him and the Captain intently. Slowly something  
began to dawn on Tom.

Tom turned to face the captain. "So, how about you tell me how you know so  
much about me, Captain? Who told you I am a pilot?"

"A mutual friend," the Captain replied. "Someone who thinks you can do  
better than hustling for a living. You're a lucky man, Paris, not many  
people have such friends."

"Oh yeah! I'm lucky...I'm so _fucking_ lucky! How many times in my life have  
I heard that?" Tom got to his feet quickly and instantly regretted the  
action as his head swam and a wave of pain washed over him.

Sandrine took a couple of steps towards Tom but was stopped by a gesture  
from the Maquis.

Tom slowly sank back into his chair, rubbing his forehead with one hand. He  
groaned, Maquis, Sandrine and everyone else forgotten for the moment.

"Why don't you just leave me alone. I don't want the job. I don't need any  
favours...from anyone. He raised his head to glare at Sandrine. Not from  
 _anyone!_ "

The Maquis Spraing to his feet, his patience finally exhausted. "I need a  
Pilot," he said, hauling Tom Paris to his feet. "You say you're good...yeah  
and before you mention it I also know you screwed up and got some people  
killed. That's why you're in the state you're in here...You know something?  
You stink, and you're a fucking mess, but something tells me you can be  
cleaned up."

"Let go of me!" Thomas shrugged the man off with a snarl. "Get your fucking  
Maquis hands off me and leave me alone!"

"Walk, Starfleet!" The captain Shoved Tom ahead of him towards the door and  
propelled him out into the street. "My offer of a job still stands...and  
you're accepting it."

"Fuck!" Thomas turned on the man, blue eyes blazing. "I already told you I  
am not going anywhere with you. I'm not _Starfleet_ either! I'm not  
anything, to you or anyone else. I turned down your offer."

"Why?"

"For no other reason than I don't like you. I didn't like you at 7.30 this  
morning, I like you even less now!" He straightened, arrogance veiling his  
features as he spat: "You keep playing your cards right, and I am going to  
end up hating you!"

The reaction of the Maquis captain took Thomas completely off guard. Before  
he could move, before he could even think, he found himself pinned against  
the wall, his hands, inexplicably trapped behind his back, held in an iron  
grip as the captain's other hand gripped his chin, forcing Tom to look into  
smouldering black eyes.

"Don't shit me, Paris. I know your kind. You like me...you like me fine and  
I could prove it right here and now! But I'd prefer you to have a bath and  
straighten out your shit-fogged brain before that happens. I have _some_  
self respect left. Now _move!_ " He released Tom and shoved him forward down  
the street. "I can't keep my ship and crew waiting all night for you."


	12. Maquis

Captain Chakotay strode along the hallway towards his quarters on board the  
 _Liberty_. He'd left Tom Paris there a few hours earlier to bathe and get  
changed, whilst Chakotay went to see how things were on the ship.

He'd received reports from his engineer, tactical officer and other  
deaprtments, and, satisfied that the ship had fared well in his day's  
absence he was now returning to see how well Paris followed orders.

Stopping at the door, he keyed in the access code and stepped into the room.

Paris knelt on the floor next to the sofa, his body shaking with chills.  
Sweat poured off him running down his nose and  
dripping onto the carpet. He hugged himself, and there was evidence that he  
had been violently sick. He looked up as Chakotay entered and shook his  
head. "I-I'm s-sorry...sir," he gasped, "I...oh, gods..." he trailed off as  
a bout of violent retching assailed him.

"Paris!" Chakotay made it to the blonde man's side in seconds and crouched  
down next to him. "Paris!" He grabbed the man's arms and helped him to his  
feet. _Obviously his addiction is worse than any of us realised,_ he thought  
as he guided the helplessly shaking man into the bathroom. Sitting him down  
on the toilet pedestal he grabbed a face cloth from a small closet and  
soaked it with cold water.

He turned and hunkered down in front of Paris, wiping his face to remove the  
sweat, and traces of vomit from around his mouth. "Take it easy," he said,  
meeting a pair of mildly fearful blue eyes.

"I'm sorry," Paris said again, shaking his head and lowering his eyes. "I'm  
such a fucking screw up."

"We'll discuss that later." Chakotay got to his feet. "Right now, you need  
to take a shower and get cleaned up, then I want my medic to have a look at  
you." He activated the shower then turned back to Tom. "Can you manage  
alone?"

Paris nodded weakly, and Chakotay stepped out of the bathroom, sliding the  
door closed behind him to let the man have some privacy. "I'll wait for you,  
I am off duty now and I can show you to the infirmary." He walked into the  
living area and set to work, cleaning up the vomit off the floor. The  
captain then washed his hands at the small sink and poured himself a glass  
of wine before settling on the sofa to wait.

Sighing softly, Chakotay shook his head, wondering what ever had possessed  
him to bring Paris aboard his ship. They were a fighting unit, not a medical  
transport, and though he'd been aware that Paris was a boozer and a drifter,  
he hadn't realized the man's condition was quite so bad. He sipped the dark  
red liquid, and passed his tongue over his lower lip, savouring the flavour  
of the Bajoran wine. _Letting your dick lead you again, Chaoktay?_  
There was no denying he was attracted to the blonde man. Paris possessed a  
special radiance that Chakotay had seen only rarely in others. It enthralled  
him. He wanted to have Paris around, right from the first night he'd been  
pointed out to him by one of his informants in Marseilles as being: 'That  
hot-shot pilot who got thrown out of Star Fleet for fixing records.'

_But we don't have the means to treat him for severe withdrawal. If he_  
stays...and I will make a decision on that after Michael looks him over, he's  
going to have to go cold turkey. 

The captain finished his wine and stood up as Tom Paris, clean and dressed  
in the clothing Chakotay had provided for him, walked into the room. Tom  
looked tired, his face drawn and gaunt. Hollow cheeks and bloodshot eyes  
told their own tale of his illness. Yet, for all that, he still seemed to  
shine, that innate radiance showing through even after all the ravages of  
booze and morphine.

Chakotay caught his breath sharply and managed a smile which he hoped was  
not more of a leer as he said: "Come on, Paris, I want the medic to see you  
and take a look at that head wound."

The captain and his new pilot walked out of Chakotay's quarters and along  
the hallway. Tom looked around, seeming to take a small interest in his  
surroundings although he didn't say anything. He still trembled violently,  
and a fine sheen of sweat had broken out on his forehead once more, but his  
steps were steady as he walked at Chakotay's side to the small, but  
well equipped infirmary.

"We don't have a qualified doctor on the ship," Chakotay mentioned as they  
stepped into the little sickbay. "Mike Ayala acts as Medic in between his  
other duties. He's good and I trust him."

Tom nodded in silence and walked over to the single biobed, climbing up on  
it to sit quietly. His eyes scanned the room, taking in the clean  
surroundings and the gleaming instruments, at least this Ayala, whoever he  
might be, seemed to know how to keep things hygienic, if not exactly  
sterile. Tom looked at Chakotay for a moment before letting his gaze drop to  
his lap. "Thank you," he said softly, referring to Chakotay's help with  
getting cleaned up.

"Don't thank me, Paris." Chakotay shrugged lightly and fell silent as a dark  
haired, heavily built man entered the room. "Ayala, this is Tom Paris. He's  
coming aboard as our pilot. I want you to see to the bump on his head."

"Yes, Chakotay." The man picked up a tricorder and moved towards Tom. "I'm  
Mike," he introduced himself as he scanned the contusion.

"Hi." Tom looked at the medical instrument in Ayala's hand. "That's Starfleet issue," he remarked.

"It is. We _found_ this and several other...useful items, floating  
around in space." His lips quirked a little as he added. "Someone carelessly  
let them get sucked through a hull breach. Waste not, want not."

Tom chuckled. "Sounds logical," he admitted and  
glanced at Chakotay. "I won't ask how the hull breach got there."

"You're smart," Chakotay told him. His heart lurched as the soft light of  
amusement touched Tom's eyes, lighting them from within and transfroming his  
face for that moment into something alive and vivid. _He stays...I can't let  
him go back there and destroy himself,_ the captain decided.

"He's got a severe concussion," Ayala said, casting Chakotay a glance over  
his shoulder. "There's evidence of an old, and well healed skull fracture  
and..." He broke off as Tom Paris suddenly doubled over with a cry of agony,  
clutching at his stomach.

"Shit!" Chakotay moved forward and grabbed hold of Tom's arms as the man  
groaned and retched helplessly. He forced Tom to lie down on the bio bed  
where the pilot writhed and sobbed, holding onto his belly as his face  
contorted in a mask of pain and fear.

Chakotay shook his head, holding Tom firmly while the spasm ripped through  
him. "The head injury is the least of his problems," he muttered, meeting  
Ayala's eyes across the bio bed. "He's an alcoholic, and an addict and he's  
in withdrawal."

"Chakotay!" Mike looked at the writhing man on the bed then back at his  
captain. "We can't treat this! I'm not a trained doctor...he needs treatment  
in a hospital!"

"We don't have that luxury. I am willing to risk keeping him here. This man  
is the best pilot in this quadrant." Chakotay stared into Ayala's eyes.  
"He's my risk. I'll be responsible for whatever happens.

"I don't like it." Ayala picked up a hypospray and began loading it with a  
sedative but was stopped by Chakotay's hand on his wrist.

"No sedatives," Chakotay said softly. "He has to come off it cold turkey."

"You're crazy...he could die!"

"No sedatives!" The Maquis Captain held his crewmember's gaze steadily for  
several moments.

Ayala sighed and reprogrammed the hypospray. "All right. You're the captain.  
I'll give him a muscle relaxant. It will ease the cramps at least."


	13. The First Hurdle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Haggy for helping me with the dialogue in this chapter.

After his trip to the infirmary, Tom had been allotted quarters of his own,  
and taken there by the captain himself. Tom couldn't fault the Maquis  
captain for his hospitality. Clothing, shelter, food and a twenty four hour  
guard were all laid on.

For the first few hours it hadn't mattered all that much that the door was  
sealed with a code Tom didn't know. He had only wanted to rest, and had  
taken full advantage of the respite Ayala's treatment gave him. He slept.

Dreamless, painless sleep. No ghosts of his past, no phantoms of a possible  
future, just simple rest. Of course, it couldn't last. He was Tom Paris,  
after all. Peace was something he had never known.

He woke sweating and shaky, dying for a drink, craving a fix, whimpering in  
the darkness of his secluded quarters. There was a stirring of movement  
beside the bed and Tom instinctively bolted off the opposite side, staring  
wide eyed at the stranger sitting in a chair beside the bed.

The stranger yawned and rubbed his eyes, then stretched, and stood up.  
Moving to a communications panel, he touched a button and spoke softly.  
"Captain, Mr Paris is awake."

"Who are you?" Tom remained half crouched beside the bed, watching the young  
Maquis warily as he moved back to his seat and sat down.

"Geron Tem." The young man smiled reassuringly. "I volunteered to stay with  
you in case you needed anything," he added then paused for a moment.  
"Actually, that's not one hundred percent true...I was the only one left,  
and being the youngest member of the crew..." He frowned, accentuating the  
ridges on the bridge of his nose.

"Yeah, being the youngest...you got stuck with me." Tom paused in thought  
for a moment. "I need a drink," he tried, "and if you've got any  
sedatives...?"

"Sorry." Geron shook his head, "the best I can offer you is water. Captain's  
orders." He studied Tom for a moment, "I'm not going to hurt you, you can  
come out from there." He nodded to indicate Tom's wary, crouched posture.  
"If I wanted to, I could have killed you any moment during the few hours you  
were asleep." He smiled and rubbed his eyes again. "The captain should be  
here soon and I can go to bed."

Tom nodded and moved to perch on the edge of the bed. "You're Bajoran."

"Sil..." Geron replied in his own tongue, nodding affirmatively. "You're  
Terran," he added with a touch of irony in his voice.

Tom chuckled. "Sorry, pretty obvious I know, but I guess I am just not my  
normal sharp self right now. What time is it?"

"It's 04:11. I've been sitting here with you for about 5 hours."

Tom got to his feet and walked to the view port, gazing out, wondering for a  
moment where they were. He rubbed his arms, chilled, despite the  
environmental controls which kept the room at a comfortable temperature. _I  
have to get a drink...gods I can't stand this._

A few moments later, the doors to his quarters slid open and the Maquis  
Captain strode into the room. He looked slightly touselled, obviously just  
out of bed. Dressed in dark brown trousers and a T-shirt of a lighter brown,  
his hair had the appearance of having been finger combed and left however it  
fell. He was barefoot and his expression was slightly drowsy, as though he'd  
come to the cabin in a hurry.

Tom regarded him steadily for a moment then said, "Good morning, Captain."

Chakotay smiled slightly and nodded to Geron. "Get some sleep." He then  
turned to Tom. "Can I get you something? Coffee? I know I could use a cup of  
tea."

Tom shrugged. "Actually, I would prefer a good stiff malt, but I guess that  
is out of the question, huh?"

"Sorry, it will have to be coffee, I'm afraid." Chakotay smiled softly as he  
took a step towards the living area.

"I take it with cream and sugar," Tom said resignedly. He turned away from  
the view port after a moment and followed the Captain into the other room.

"How are you feeling?" Chakotay turned from the replicator and handed Tom a  
steaming mug.

"Like shit, but I guess you know that." Tom took a sip of the scalding  
liquid and closed his eyes.

"Yeah, well, if you eat sleep and breathe shit for a year you will end up  
feeling that way." Chakotay moved to a sofa and sat down.

"I would feel better if you would let me have a drink!" Tom felt his temper  
rising and ground his teeth, moving restlessly about the room, prowling like  
a caged animal.

"You know that is not going to happen, Paris."

"Fuck!" Tom rounded on the Maquis with a snarl. "Who the hell died and put  
you in charge of my life? What would you care, Maquis, what I do? What the  
hell business is it of yours?"

Sipping his tea, Chakotay suppressed a grin and met Tom's eyes. "No-one  
died. I am your captain. You follow my orders, Paris, and my orders are that  
you're here to dry out so you can fly my ship. Until that happens, you're  
not getting near the helm."

Tom Paris turned away with a frustrated sigh, saying nothing. He stared at  
the wall for several moments, bringing the anger which had boiled up within  
him under control.

Chakotay waited, letting Paris take his own pace. He could almost feel the  
anger from the younger man, and he didn't want to push him too hard. He  
watched with approval as Paris reined his temper in. Even if Paris was a  
boozer and an addict, it was obvious that he still possessed some sense of  
self discipline. That would help.

"I will fly better if I can have a drink. To take the edge off." Tom turned  
to look at the Captain and set his cooling coffee down on a table. "Look,  
it's not like I can't handle it. Sure, if you want me to get off the  
morphine, OK...but I can handle the drink. I won't let it get out of hand. I  
swear. Just one drink isn't going to hurt anything."

"No, Paris! We're a fighting unit. I don't think you'll fly better under the  
influence of booze. You will need your wits about you, a clear head. No  
booze. No drugs."

"Shit!" Paris pushed his hands through his hair and prowled about the room  
for a few minutes, muttering to himself in a bitter undertone before he  
eventually turned to the captain, "Have I told you today, what an utter  
bastard you are?"

"Get used to it, Starfleet. We're going to be together for a while."  
Chakotay replied.

"I am not Starfleet! I told you that already." Tom winced as a sharp pain  
shot through his belly and he began to suspect his body would soon reject  
the small amount of coffee he had drunk. "God, I feel sick!"

"I was told you never stop talking about how much you want to fly again.  
Here's your chance, Paris, how much do you really want it?"

"I can fly anything you want to give me the controls to," Pars replied.  
"Drunk or sober."

"Were you drunk when you went down on Caldik prime?"

"No." Tom sent the Captain an icy glare.

"Doped then?" Chakotay pressed.

"NO! I wasn't drunk and I had never touched drugs in my life till then!"

"Oh I see, so you turned to this shit to avoid accountability?"

"NO! I..." Tom's shoulders drooped in defeat. "Yeah..maybe you're right, I  
dunno." How could he explain to the Maquis captain his downward slide had  
not been rapid. Hell, it was not like he woke up one morning and just  
decided to become a hopeless drunken addict. "It wasn't like that," he said,  
slowly sinking down into an armchair.

"Then why don't you tell me what it was like? Talk to me Paris. Tell me how  
you got into this mess?"

"What's to tell," Tom sighed softly. "It won't change anything it won't make  
this any better."

"Maybe not, but talking might help." Chakotay leaned back and set his empty  
teacup aside. "Try it."

"I don't know where to start." Tom rubbed his face with both hands. This was  
the first time that anyone, apart from Julian had asked him to explain the  
things that had gone wrong in his life. He wasn't sure he was up to it. He  
sighed. "I screwed up, on Caldik prime, and my life has been one screw up  
after another ever since."

Chakotay nodded, silent, waiting for Paris to continue. He didn't know if  
talk was going to help, but he wanted something to distract the man's mind  
from the craving for drink and drugs. He drew a deep breath and let it out,  
slowly. Something told him this was not going to be a pretty tale. "Go on."

"We went down to Caldik prime on a simple reconnaissance mission. Hell... a  
raw cadet could have handled it," Tom spoke softly, his blue eyes clouded,  
distant, as he went back to that day. "The planet itself was no challenge.  
I could have flown in there and out again a dozen times in terms of terrain  
and landing areas. But...that day I fucked it up. I made a stupid mistake, a  
miscalculation and it cost my friends their lives."

He recounted, in minute detail, the crash, coming too after impact with the  
smell of burning all around him and soaked with the blood of his copilot,  
Caroline. He told of finding her headless body slumped over her console. He  
told of Charlie's desperate screams for help. By the time he got to that  
part, he was sobbing quietly.

"I could have saved him...I could have...but I didn't. I ran." Tom tore his  
fingers through blond curls. "I...don't remember how I got out. I remember  
hearing Charlie screaming; calling my name and begging me to help him, and  
the next thing I remember, I was sitting outside, watching the shuttle burn,  
until finally the flames died down."

Chakotay watched the young man in silence, his dark eyes filled with  
sympathy. The events he described sounded, hellish, like something out of a  
nightmare. Chakotay wondered if Paris had received any kind of counselling  
or help with the trauma. He sighed. "You survived. Survival instinct is a  
selfish motivation, Paris, but it is not a bad thing. Maybe you could have  
helped Charlie, and maybe you couldn't. What happened then?"

"When the fire burned out, I went back into the shuttle. I...don't really  
know why. Maybe...maybe some part of me was hoping they had survived,  
that...that somehow..." He trailed off and fell silent for several moments  
while he fought for control. "They were dead. Burned. I was scared. I was  
there all alone. I...salvaged what I could of the shuttle's sensor logs and  
moved away from the area some distance. I didn't want to be near them. I set  
up a camp and waited for the ship to come back."

"Why did you alter the logs?"

Tom glanced up at the captain sharply. "I don't know. I honestly don't know,  
now. It was just another stupid screw up. At the time I guess I thought  
about protecting my family's name. The Paris name, our reputation, it's all  
my...Fa...Admiral Paris cares about, everything he lives for. I didn't want  
him to know I screwed up. I didn't want to make him ashamed of me."

Paris got to his feet and paced again, rubbing his arms absently as though  
cold. "I could have got away scott free. All I had to do was shut my mouth."  
He stopped his restless pacing and looked into Chakotay's eyes. "I could  
have walked away, forgotten all about it and gone on with my career."

"Why didn't you? What made you tell the truth?"

With a sigh, Tom returned to his chair. "Guilt, fear...ghosts. I never  
believed in ghosts...until the first night back on Earth." He shuddered. "I  
didn't sleep much that night. The three spirits came to visit me." He closed  
his eyes. "They became my constant companions. Everywhere I went, everything  
I did, was overshadowed by Charlie, Sam, and Caroline. They haunted my  
sleep, and they hunted my steps. I was never free of them."

"So you started drinking to ease that."

Tom nodded, "Yeah, it seemed to help. I drank, and one night, I was offered  
the morphine by a doctor who felt I needed help to sleep. He gave me a shot.  
It knocked me out for hours...it was...you can't imagine how good it was,  
just to sleep. I managed to convince him to give me the drug two more times  
before he refused."

"But there are other people who can...and do supply it."

"Yeah, and it didn't take me long to find that out." Tom coughed and  
absently scratched at his arm, soothing a crawling sensation. "Anything you  
want, can be had, if you have the money...and I had that. The one time in my  
life I was glad of my rich, privileged life. I had enough left in my credit  
account that I could support my needs for a while." He bowed his head. "It  
kept the ghosts at bay. I felt that I could cope. I thought I could walk  
away."

He recounted his eventual exhaustion of those funds, the final admission to  
his father of his lies, his cashierment, and the subsequent attack on him  
after he left Star Fleet Headquarters.

"I was taken in after I left the hospital, by one of the nurses, and a  
trainee doctor, Julian Bashir. But I couldn't even get straightened out,  
then." Tom still had moments when he regretted pushing Julian and Ben out of  
his life.

"So I ended up in Marseilles. And now here."

"And now here." Chakotay rose to his feet and picked up his empty cup.  
"Don't you think it is time you stopped running?" He looked at Paris for a  
moment. "You should face your ghosts, Paris, and exorcise them. booze and  
drugs is just a cover up, it doesn't deal with the problem."

Tom shook his head. "I can't. I...have tried, I thought by telling the  
truth, that would settle it, but they still haunt me." He sobbed quietly,  
rubbing at his face with both hands, ashamed to appear so weak in the face  
of the strong, dark captain.

When Chakotay touched him on the arm, Paris nearly jumped out of his skin.  
He recoiled against the back of the sofa, wide eyed with terror.

"Easy." Chakotay held his hands up in a placating action. "I didn't mean to  
startle you. I was just going to suggest you get some more rest. I'll sit  
with you, you won't be alone, Paris. You won't ever be alone. I want to help  
you through this."

Tom nodded meekly. The thought of having Chakotay there with him while he  
rested, was strangely comforting. He sighed and got to his feet.

"All right." He stumbled slowly towards the bedroom, fearing the hours that were  
to come. He knew his body was going to begin screaming for the numbing  
effects of booze and drugs before long, and the knowledge scared him. He had  
been there before, and knew it was going to be hell all over again. Climbing  
onto the bed, he stretched out, face down as was his preferred sleeping  
position and closed his eyes. _God...let it be over soon...please God...if  
you're there and you can hear me...just this once. Gimme a break?_


	14. Never Alone

Chakotay was unsure how long he had dozed for, when he was woken by a sharp  
cry of pain and fear. He sat bolt upright in the chair and looked for the  
source of the sound. 

Tom Paris stood on the far side of the bed, his hair plastered damply  
against his forehead, and sweat running off him in rivulets, he stared  
wildly around the room, his eyes wide with terror. 

"Paris." Chakotay stood up, and moved slowly toward the man. 

"Where am I? Who are you?" Tom backed away from the dark man who approached  
him. He shivered uncontrollably and instinctively hugged himself, trying to  
ward off the cold that seemed to seep into his very bones. 

Tom backed against the wall and sank down. He clawed at his flesh, pale,  
slim fingers scratching frantically. "They...they're all over me...make it  
stop!" 

"What is all over you? How can I help? What do you want me to do?" Chakotay  
hunkered down, a short distance away keeping his voice soft and gentle, not  
wanting to make Paris more edgy. "I'm here to help, it's ok." 

"Give me a drink...please...just one drink... I...I'll do anything you want.  
Just let me have a drink!" Paris stared at Chakotay. "If you want to  
help...get me a drink." 

"I can't do that. I told you, no booze and no drugs. I can get you some  
water...something to eat. But nothing else." Chakotay stood up and moved  
towards the door, planning to fetch a glass of water for the younger man but  
was stopped by a gentle hand on his arm. 

"Hey...c'mon...you can give me one little drink...sure you can. What would  
you like me to give you? I can...I can make you feel real good, Captain...I  
can ..." Paris trailed off and pressed his body against Chakotay's back,  
grinding his hips suggestively, and nuzzling the Native American's shoulder.  
"Just one drink..I'll make it worth your while," he murmured, silkily. 

"Paris..." Chakotay turned to face the blonde man, his lips parted to speak,  
but the words never passed his lips. Tom Paris threw his arms around  
Chakotay's neck and captured his mouth in a teasing, passionate kiss, his  
tongue passing across Chakotay's lips and demanding entry. 

With a groan, Chakotay pulled the beautiful younger man closer, surrendering  
to the teasing, playful tongue that sought his. He kissed him back, parrying  
Tom's darting tongue with his own and growling softly into the other man's  
mouth. 

"Come on, Captain." Paris' voice was a teasing whisper. "You want me, I know  
you do...you can have me, any way you want...." 

Chakotay shuddered, his mind still reeling from the response those sweet  
young lips had wakened in him. He closed his eyes, battling the passion that  
had threatened for a moment to overwhelm him, then gently but firmly,  
pushed Paris away. "No, Paris. Not on those terms." 

"Damn you!" Paris swung away, pacing and running his hands through his sweat  
darkened hair. "Fuck you! Damn you! What do you want from me?" He rounded  
on the Maquis captain and flew at him, fists raised. "Why don't you just let  
me go? I hate you! I hate this ship. I want to go back to Marseilles!" 

He struck out at the man, only to find his wrists caught and held in an iron  
grip as Chakotay fended off the attack. Tom reeled backwards as the captain  
shoved him towards the bed, where he landed in an inelegant heap on the  
mattress. 

"You don't want to do that, Paris," Chakotay said. "I'll take a lot from  
you, but if you hit me, I _will_ strike back, and you will come off  
worst!" He turned away and moved into the other room. 

Walking to the kitchen area, Chakotay rummaged about in cupboards. Gathering  
a few pungent smelling herbs from a dark colored container, he ordered hot  
water from the replicator and steeped the herbs in it for several minutes.  
He could hear Paris muttering to himself in the bedroom, and he suppressed a  
slight smile. 

Far from being upset that the young man had tried to hit him, he was  
relieved. It proved that Paris still had some fight left, and it made  
Chakotay realize that the man would survive this. He stirred the concoction  
in the cup, then strained the darkish fluid into another cup and carried it  
back into the bedroom. 

"Here, drink this." Chakotay held the cup out to the man. 

"What is it?" Paris eyed the cup suspiciously, wrinkling his nose at the  
pungent smell. "It smells like..." 

"It's herbal tea. It will help you to rest, trust me. I know it smells bad,  
drink it quickly and you won't notice it so much." 

"Not like I have a lot of choice, huh?" Tom took the cup and held it in his  
hands, staring at the dark, greenish liquid for a moment. 

"You have two choices. Drink it yourself, voluntarily, or, I will pour it  
down your throat by force." Chakotay folded his arms across his chest,  
waiting, implacable for Tom to make his choice. 

"I can manage." The younger man tipped the cup to his lips and drank. He  
spluttered a couple of times at the bitter taste, but drained the cup to the  
last drop. 

"Good." Chakotay took the empty cup from the pilot's hands and suppressed a  
grin at the comical expression on the man's face as he expressed his  
distaste for the medicine. 

"That stuff is disgusting! It's worse than the worst possible cough  
medicine!" Tom looked up at the Maquis. "What the hell is in it? Old socks?" 

"Close," Chakotay set the empty cup on the bedside table. "It's a concoction  
of eagle shit and skunk urine actually." He glanced sideways at Tom and was  
hard pressed not to shout with laughter at the horrified expression he  
encountered. 

"You're joking..." Tom gasped, "Oh please, tell me you're joking...I  
think...I think I'm gonna be sick!" 

Chakotay shook his head. "I'm sorry," he said, unable to hold back a chuckle  
any longer. "It's just a simple bark, mixed with the ground roots of a  
certain plant which grows on my home planet. We use it for sweating  
sickness. It will help you to get some rest. Now...come on, back to bed." 

Tom Paris snorted, fixing the big Maquis captain with a cold stare, which he  
managed to hold for all of two minutes before, he too saw the humor in the  
situation and let out a reluctant chuckle. "Yeah, well, I guess I walked  
right into that one." He moved up the bed to rest his head against the  
pillows, shivering slightly as he lay down. "It's a little cold in here,"  
Tom said softly. 

Chakotay smiled and moved to sit on the side of the bed, reaching for the  
blankets to cover Tom with. "You're tired, you've been through a lot in the  
last few days. Try and sleep." 

"Would you..." Tom began then hesitated a moment. "Would you...lie down with  
me?" He looked into Chakotay's eyes, reading the hesitation in them. "No  
strings..." he said quietly. "I just... don't want to be alone." 

Chakotay hesitated a moment longer then shook his head."I'll be right here  
by the bed. You won't be alone, Paris." He made to get up but Paris grabbed  
his wrist. 

"Please, Captain. Just lie here beside me. I'm not gonna make any moves." He  
half smirked. "You only get one chance to turn down Tom Paris." 

"All right." Chakotay sighed and nudged Tom gently. "Move over." He waited  
while Tom made room for him on the bed, then stretched out beside the  
younger man. Turning on his side, he let Paris nestle against him, tucking  
the blonde head under his chin and laying one arm across Tom's waist. He  
held his breath for a moment then let it go slowly, relaxing into the  
position and closing his eyes. "Sleep, Paris. We're both going to need our  
strength." 

For several moments they were both silent, and Chakotay felt his mind begin  
to drift towards sleep. He sighed softly, his arms tightening around the  
warm body beside him as he gave himself up to the pleasant sensation of  
approaching slumber. 

Then, so softly that he almost didn't catch it, Tom Paris whispered against  
his shoulder. "You can call me Tom. I'd like that." 

Chakotay smiled sleepily and nodded, half asleep, as he felt Tom relax in  
his arms and heard the younger man's breathing even out into the gentle  
rhythm of sleep. A few moments later, he followed, his own breath moving  
softly between parted lips, his body moulded to the slim frame of the  
beautiful man he'd decided, on a whim, to rescue from himself.


	15. Vanity's Desire

"Are you completely out of your mind, captain?" Joannes stepped forward,  
facing Chakotay squarely as he challenged the decision to give Tom Paris the  
helm. "We all know what he is...and *who!*" He turned to his crew mates,  
receiving a nod or two from some of the others as they agreed with him.

"Oh? Why don't you explain to me exactly what it is you're getting at."  
Chakotay put his hands on his hips, glaring from one to another of his  
bridge crew then fixing Joannes with dark, unreadable eyes. "I'm listening."

"He's the son of an Admiral! Groomed from birth to live, breathe, and sleep,  
Starfleet. What makes you so sure he isn't going to turn on us the first  
chance he gets? He has no reason to join us! This is not _his_ life, or  
 _his_ home and family we're fighting for. He's the enemy, Chakotay! And he's  
a hopeless drunk and an addict into the bargain."

Several others gave voice to their agreement with Joannes. Dalby nodded and  
smirked at Chakotay as he added. "I've seen the honorable Admiral Paris  
and his son, when I was on security details at their fancy dinners. Tom  
Paris is just like his highbrow father, he mingles it with the brass as  
easily as a fish mingles with sea water. _I_ don't trust him!"

"Besides," Seska moved forward, "All he's done since he came here is take  
you away from your bridge, Chakotay. He is too much of a drain on resources.  
We should put him off the ship the first chance we get. We're a good unit,  
we work well together. We don't need anyone else coming in here at this  
stage."

"You're forgetting we don't have a helmsman anymore." Chakotay squared his  
shoulders, staring each one of them down. "Which one of you is going to fly  
the ship if we put him off?"

"I...uhm...I could fly her, sir." Geron Tem said from the back  
of the group. "But...but I've heard about this Paris, sir. I've heard he is  
good. If...if you're willing to trust him, I am too."

Chakotay's features softened a moment as he looked at the young man who had  
spoken. "I'm sure you could fly her, Tem, but we need someone who can  
navigate the badlands, and as much as I trust your skill in a battle, you  
haven't had enough flying hours to handle those plasma storms."

"Yessir." Geron Tem nodded his agreement and glanced around at his crew  
mates. "Captain Chakotay has never failed us before. If he trusts this  
Paris, then we should as well."

Turning his attention from the young Bajoran, Chakotay looked over the  
bridge crew. "For now, I say Paris stays. Let him have a chance to prove  
himself. It's no more and no less than each of you was given when you joined  
us." He waited for any objection, watching their faces carefully. Although a  
few of them looked sullen and wary, no-one spoke out. "Well?"

"I think that sounds like a good plan, Chakotay. None of us was judged on  
his family or his history when we came aboard." Ayala spoke up and ran his  
eyes over the other crew members. "Let's give this Paris a chance to prove  
himself. If he screws up, we can put him off...if not...well, you all had  
the same chance. We're Maquis, we honor a man, or spurn him on his own  
merits, true?"

"True." B'Elanna Torres stepped forward and with her word, the tide of  
opinion suddenly began to turn. Chakotay knew he had won, even though some  
of them still showed their distrust of the idea plainly, in features and  
stance, they would not dare to gainsay the captain and his two most loyal  
officers. It was settled. Tom Paris would stay.

Leaving the small room they used as a briefing room, the Maquis captain made  
his way back to his quarters to find Tom Paris, fretting in front of the  
mirror in the bathroom.

The pilot was wearing the uniform that had been provided to him by another  
crew member, probably Ayala, judging by the disparity of size. It hung on  
Paris' lean frame like a sack, and that is exactly what Paris called it, as  
he muttered to himself about the clothing.

"What're you grinning about?" Paris turned to look at Chakotay as the big  
Maquis leaned on the door frame, watching him with a grin plastered from ear  
to ear.

"Grinning? Was I grinning?" Chakotay struggled to bring his features under  
control. "I'm sorry, I guess I am just pleased about the outcome of the  
meeting." He stepped away from the door as Paris moved past him into the  
bedroom. Noting that Paris had not yet put on the trousers that went with  
the tunic, he forced his eyes away from the hemline of the hip length shirt  
and cleared his throat softly. "The crew have decided that you can stay."

"They have?" Tom turned to look at Chakotay. "I have to say, I'm surprised."

"Oh...not easily, I should add. Some of them don't want you here, and it is  
not going to be all plain sailing, Tom. But you're in at least." As he  
spoke, Chakotay found his eyes, and his attention wandering downwards over  
Tom's body, until his gaze rested at the hemline of that _just_ too short  
tunic. He swallowed, unconsciously running the tip of his tongue across his  
lower lip. _Gods, he is just standing there...just letting it all wave in  
the breeze I could..._

"Captain?" Tom's voice cut across the thought, and Chakotay realized he had  
completely missed what the pilot had said to him.

"Hmm?" He tore his eyes away from the lower half of Paris' anatomy. "I'm  
sorry, I was..."

"I know." Paris sat down on the bed, and pulled a corner of the quilt across  
his lap. "Like what you see, Captain?" Tom leered, then lowered his gaze and  
swallowed before he went on. "I asked you if I couldn't just wear my own  
clothes until I can get something that fits a little better?"

Chakotay shook his head. "I'm sorry, Tom. We're going to make a stop for  
provisions in a day or so, you can get a properly fitted uniform then. But  
until then, you'll have to make do with these clothes. I had your old  
clothes reclaimed. They stunk."

"Well...that explains why I can't find my shorts."Paris frowned and reached  
for the oversized trousers. "You know these things didn't come with a belt.  
I'm going to give your crew quite a show if I have to run anywhere."

Chakotay grinned and lowered his gaze to the floor, as a very wicked image  
of a naked from the waist down Tom Paris, bolting across the bridge flitted  
across his mind. He pushed the image aside firmly and moved to a closet,  
rummaging about until he came up with a pair of his own shorts and a belt  
which he handed to the pilot. "Here, use these."

"All right." Paris said with a resigned sigh, "but I really hope that  
wherever we're going, they make clothes to fit an average humanoid build. I  
feel like bozo the clown in this outfit. Not to mention that brown is not my  
color!"

"I'm sure that our tailors will be happy to cater to your vanity, Mr.  
Paris." Chakotay made an affected bow. "But unfortunately, brown is about  
the only shade we carry. You'll have to put up with that."

"Oh just can the fucking rich boy shit would you?" Tom got to his feet and  
turned his back to Chakotay, struggling into the shorts he'd given him."That  
really fucking pisses me off! What the hell would _you_ know about me, or my  
taste in anything. You don't know me, or anything about me, _captain._  
I'll wear the fucking clothes if that makes you happy...and..."

"Whoa!"Chakotay held up his hands in a gesture of surrender."Wait a minute,  
Tom, what's this about?"

"Nothing. Forget it, ok? Just forget it!" Tom stormed out of the bedroom and  
went to the kitchen area, stopping at the replicator and punching in some  
commands. "I'll be on the bridge for my first shift in..." He looked at the  
chronometer on the wall, "Thirty-five minutes, sir. I'm just going to have  
some breakfast first."

Chakotay Frowned and watched the pilot for a moment, aware that something he  
had said or done, obviously had gone more than skin deep. _So, you do have a  
flesh and blood core under that smart assed veneer?_

"All right," Chakotay said softly. "I guess I'd better get to the bridge  
myself. Will you be okay with finding your way?"

"Yes. Thank you, Captain." Tom lifted a bowl of cereal from the replicator.  
"I assume this ship has an internal computer system, I'll ask it for  
directions."

"Fine." Chakotay sighed, feeling the walls go up between himself and the  
beautiful blonde man. "I'll see you then...on the bridge."

"Yes." Paris seemed to dismiss him from his mind as he moved to the table  
and sat down, beginning to eat as though Chakotay no longer existed.

With a sigh, Chakotay took a backwards step, watching Paris as the younger  
man dug into the cereal like there was nothing else besides that bowl in the  
universe. He frowned, wanting to stay, wanting to say something that would  
erase the previous few minutes. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words  
formed. Finally, with a resigned sigh, he turned, and walked out of the  
room, listening to the swish of the doors closing behind him. As he walked  
away, he thought he heard a muffled thud from his quarters, but good sense  
told him not to turn back. It was obvious that Paris needed some time to  
cool off.

* * *

Exactly thirty-five minutes later, and not a second past the start time of  
his shift, Tom Paris entered the bridge of the Crazy Horse. He paused in the  
doorway for a moment, and looked around, reading the faces of his new crew  
mates. Most of them kept their expressions neutral. Eyes downcast, avoiding  
his gaze. Only Ayala met his eyes, his expression that of reserved  
friendship. Tom nodded to him and walked slowly across to the helm chair  
which was occupied by the young Bajoran who had sat with him the first night  
Tom was aboard.

"I'm here to relieve you," he said softly, smiling as the younger man turned  
to look up at him. "I'm Tom," he added, seeing nothing in the Bajoran's look  
that made him think he need not be friendly.

"We've met," the Bajoran replied, moving out of the helm chair for him. "I'm Geron  
Tem."

Easing himself into the chair, Tom looked over the helm console and nodded,  
there was not much about it that was unfamiliar to him, most of the Maquis  
ships were stolen from the Federation or other familiar races and the  
Liberty was no different. The helm layout was close to that of the  
Federation vessels Tom had trained on.

Running his hands over the console, Tom busied himself with getting the feel  
of the ship and how she responded to the helm. He lost himself in the task  
for a quiet half hour, running the ship through basic manoeuvres as he  
familiarized himself with every nuance of response and each variation of  
flight pattern. He smiled to himself, feeling at home for the first time in  
months.

"Well, what have we here?" Tom heard a voice behind him sneer. "Tom Paris,  
the captain's whore!"

Turning from his console, Tom got to his feet and faced the man who had  
spoken. He narrowed his eyes, meeting the defiant gaze of the maquis  
officer. "You just shut your mouth," he said. "That's not true."

The man sniggered and leered at Tom, running his eyes slowly down over the  
long, lean frame of the pilot. "You're not going to tell me the Captain has  
spent three nights alone with you and never had a taste?" He shook his head  
slightly. "I know him better, and you're just the sort he likes!"

Tom drew himself to his full height and stared into the man's eyes. "Look, I  
don't know who you think you are..." he began.

"You can call me Joannes. I'm here to tell you, if our captain catches  
anything from you, you'll answer to me...and at least four others."

"What? Are you afraid to take me on alone?" Tom stepped forward, into the  
man's personal space, almost nose to nose. "I think you had better learn to  
mind your own business, _Mister_ Joannes, I don't take kindly to being  
pushed around."

"Oh? Well, maybe you'd prefer to be my personal plaything..."Joannes grabbed  
hold of Tom's groin, squeezing hard, "I could make it hot for you, Paris..."

"Get your frigging hands off me!" Tom lunged forward, knocking Joannes back  
a pace or two. "You stinking Maquis trash!"

"Oh, so now mister _Starfleet_ shows his true colors, huh?" Joannes  
recovered his balance and slammed a fist into Tom's belly, grunting with  
satisfaction when the pilot doubled over, coughing and gasping for breath.

"Screw you!" Tom retorted, coming up at Joannes with a closed fist which  
he slammed into Joannes' nose, feeling the cartelidge rupture under his  
assault. A moment later, Tom found himself on the deck, blood pouring from a  
cut on his lower lip. Investigating with his tongue, he realized he had  
broken a tooth. With a snarl, he scrambled to his feet and launched himself  
at his adversary.

"That's enough, both of you!" Chakotay's voice rang out across the bridge.  
He stood by the command chair, hands on hips, glaring at them both.  
"Joannes, return to your station." He glared at the man in silence until  
with a reluctant shuffle of feet, and one last glance at Tom, the Maquis  
stood down and returned to his station near the back of the bridge.

Turning his attention to the pilot, Chakotay let his breath go on a sigh.  
"Go to the sickbay and get that lip tended to. Ayala, go with him. When  
Paris returns, Joannes can go." Slowly, Chakotay eased himself back into his  
chair, watching as Tom silently moved off the bridge. At least the pilot had  
proven that he was not afraid to stand up for himself.

Chakotay leaned back in the chair, wondering what Joannes had said to get  
Tom so heated up. The captain sighed, something told him, this wouldn't be  
the last scuffle Tom Paris would become involved in. In a way it was to be  
expected. Paris' background and history would make for a lot of mistrust  
from the other crew members. He only hoped that they could sort it out  
before someone, especially Paris, was really hurt.


	16. Unwanted

Greg Ayala laid aside the regenerator and gave  
Tom's bottom lip one last inspection. "I think it will  
heal nicely," he said. "Just try not to get busted in  
the mouth again for a few hours." He grinned and  
clapped Tom on the shoulder. "You can go back  
now, and send Joannes down here."

"Thanks." Tom slid to the floor from the biobed  
he'd perched on and walked towards the door. "I'll  
do my best not to *start* any trouble," he added  
quietly, "but I won't take any crap...from anyone."

He walked along the hallway back towards the  
bridge, noticing a small blood stain on the front of  
his tunic as he went. "I don't suppose I can even  
hope for a change of clothes," he muttered to  
himself. "I'll have to refresh it after my shift."  
Frowning, Tom rubbed at the spot, annoyed by it  
for reasons he couldn't even begin to articulate.  
He muttered and shook his head, brought up short  
when he almost collided with a dark haired, Bajoran  
woman, who walked out of a doorway to his right.

"Oh, excuse me," Tom said softly, smiling as he  
side stepped to go around her.

"Not so fast." The woman moved to block his path  
as two men stepped out behind her, flanking her,  
and effectively cutting off Tom's progress to the  
bridge.

_Oh geeze. This is your lucky day, Tommy boy._

"Is this him?" The woman cast a glance over her  
shoulder at one of the men with her. 

"He's the one, Seska. That's Paris. I'd know that  
face anywhere." The man sneered and spat on the  
floor at Tom's feet.

"Pleased to meet you." Tom folded his arms across  
his chest, watching them warily, ready to fight or  
bolt, as the occasion demanded, but he would not  
be the one to make the first move. "Is there  
something you want? I'm on duty, and the captain is  
expecting me back on the bridge by now."

"I want you to leave this ship. That's what I want."  
Seska moved forward, meeting his eyes boldly  
before she paced a circle around him. "You're not  
wanted here. We can do without your kind on this  
vessel."

"My...kind?" Tom didn't attempt to keep track of  
her movements, he was more concerned with  
watching the two guys with her. One of them was  
Terran, the other, looked Betazoid, but there was an  
odd cast to his eyes, and he didn't give off the usual  
calming vibes that most Betazoids did. Tom  
watched him closest of all. He didn't like the look of  
him.

"You're pedigreed Starfleet, Paris. Born and bred  
to it, you're the enemy, we don't want you here, no  
matter what the _captain_ says!"

"Oh, I see." Tom met Seska's eyes as she came  
back to stand in front of him. "For someone who  
wasn't even sure I am Paris, you seem to know an  
awful lot about who and what I am." He narrowed  
his eyes. "I am not Starfleet. In case you hadn't  
heard, they threw me out. I'm not anything. And I'd  
be happy to oblige you by leaving this ship, but  
your captain has other ideas."

"You don't seem to understand..." Seska leaned in  
close, her breath warm on Tom's face as she  
lowered her voice to a whisper. "Chakotay is mine!  
I love him...he belongs to me, and you are not  
wanted here. You leave this ship when we dock for  
supplies...or you will find out just how serious I  
am!"

"I don't want to come between you and the  
Captain." Tom took a half step backwards, hating  
to back down, yet needing to get some breathing  
space. "There's nothing between Chakotay and I.  
He helped me out. That's all. You could ask him  
yourself, I am sure he'd say the same thing."

"What he says or doesn't say, is not at issue here.  
Seska moved back, a satisfied smirk curving her  
lips as she locked eyes with Tom. "You leave this  
ship in three days, and everything will be fine, for  
you _and_ Chakotay. Understand?"

"Sure, I understand. I understand just fine." Tom  
glanced over Seska's shoulder at the two heavies.  
"But it strikes me that you need just a little too  
much muscle to prove how devoted to you  
Chakotay is. Now, if you'll excuse me?" He  
brushed past the scowling woman and shouldered  
his way between the two men. They let him pass,  
jostling him roughly along the way.

Shaking his head, Tom made his way back to the  
bridge and took his post at the helm. It was obvious  
to him that no matter what the outcome of the staff  
meeting may have been, Chakotay's crew didn't  
want him aboard the ship. He cast the dark captain  
a glance as he turned to offer a report on the helm  
status. Chakotay smiled at him reassuringly and  
Tom nodded, but something told him that his  
troubles aboard this ship were far from over.  
Maybe it would be better if he did find some way to  
leave, when the ship put in for supplies wherever  
they were going.

The rest of his shift passed without incident, and  
Tom was glad to finally get off the bridge and go  
back to his quarters. He changed into his night shirt,  
which was the only other clothing he possessed  
until he could get more, and ordered himself a cup  
of coffee from the replicator. He would have  
preferred something a little stronger, but Chakotay  
had the foresight to have his replicator rendered non  
alcoholic. With a heavy sigh, he took the steaming  
mug over to the sofa and sat down. Closing his  
eyes in appreciation of the strong, aromatic brew,  
Tom allowed his thoughts to wander to his Captain. 

Chakotay was the first person since Ben and Julian  
to really offer him unconditional friendship. _Yeah,  
that's what it is...friendship._ Tom had to admit  
that his first impression of the Maquis Captain had  
changed. He had thought at first, that Chakotay was  
an overpowering bully, and a prick who wouldn't  
take no for an answer. Over the past week, though,  
that opinion had begun to change.

Sure, Chakotay was tough, and he knew what he  
wanted, and expected those wants to be met. At  
the same time, there was an innate decency and  
fairness in the man. He was firm with his crew and  
with Tom, yet he never asked anything of them, or  
of Tom that you wouldn't imagine him doing  
himself if needed. 

Tom sipped his coffee and sighed to himself.  
 _And he smells so...clean...there is a purity about  
him, a sweetness that none of the other men I met in  
Sandrine's or anywhere else ever had._ He found  
himself blushing at that thought and rose to take his  
empty cup to the recycler.

_And you told Seska you don't want to get  
between her and Chakotay? Who're you trying to  
kid? You'd give anything to make him want you._

A soft beep from a communications relay alerted  
him to an incoming com and Tom turned to look at  
the console. 

"Chakotay to Paris." The Captain's voice sounded  
lighter and thinner over the electrical relay.

"Paris here, Captain. How can I help you?" Tom  
spoke after pressing the small call button.

"I was wondering if you're busy," Chakotay replied.  
"I'd like to see you, if you have a few minutes."

Tom glanced down at his clothes and smirked. "I'm  
not busy, Captain, but you'll have to come here to  
me. I...well, my suit is at the cleaners and I don't  
have anything else to wear."

"Acknowledged," Tom thought he caught an edge  
of amusement in Chakotay's voice. "I'll be down in  
a few minutes." There was a pause, then Chakotay  
went on. "Have you eaten?"

"No, as a matter of fact, I hadn't thought of dinner  
yet." Tom said.

"Fine, I'll join you. Chakotay out."

Tom stared at the com system for a moment, then  
turned away, wishing he had even so much as a  
bathrobe to put on over the nightshirt. He snorted  
to himself. _Get a grip, Paris, he's seen everything  
you have anyway._

He walked around the room aimlessly for a moment  
or two then made himself stop when he realized  
what he was doing. "You're behaving like a  
teenager, Tommy. This is Chakotay, remember?  
Big chief pain in the ass. Just pull yourself together."

Letting his breath out on a sigh, Tom forced himself  
to relax and moved to the replicator, wondering  
what kind of food the Captain would prefer to eat.  
He was about to punch in a selection for himself  
when the door-chimes rang and interrupted the  
action. Lifting an eyebrow, Tom turned to the  
doors. "Enter," he called softly, unsurprised when  
Chakotay stepped into the room.

"That was quick, Captain." Tom turned back to the  
replicator. "What would  
You like to eat?” He asked, silently cursing his  
hand, which trembled noticeably as it hovered over  
the menu.

When there was no reply, Tom turned to look at  
Chakotay, and found the Captain standing right  
behind him. Taking a half step back, Tom winced  
when he found himself backed against the  
replicator. He passed his tongue across his lips  
nervously and managed a small, tight smile. “Oh, I  
didn’t realize you were...”

Chakotay immediately stepped backwards, allowing  
Tom some space. “Sorry,” he said, “I was just  
looking at the menu.” He smiled and nodded  
towards the replicator. “The mushroom soup is  
good.”

Tom nodded stiffly and turned back to look at the  
replicator, glad of the diversion as he asked himself  
why he had never noticed the dimples that showed  
plainly when Chakotay smiled before. He drew a  
deep breath and keyed in the orders, mushroom  
soup for the Captain, and pizza for himself.

Lifting the plates from the replicator tray, Tom  
turned and headed over to the table, setting the  
bowl on the table for Chakotay, he placed his plate  
on the opposite side before he fetched cutlery from  
a drawer.

“I see you’re finding your way around,” Chakotay  
said softly as he moved to his chair. “Thanks,” he  
added, accepting a spoon from Tom.

“Well, I had plenty of opportunities the past week,  
to watch you fixing meals and whatever, I am a  
master of observation.” Tom picked his slice of  
pizza up in his hands. “Excuse me if I don’t use a  
knife and fork.”

“Oh, that’s the only way to eat pizza...or so I am  
told.” Chakotay spooned some soup into his  
mouth, watching the young pilot across the table.  
“You handled yourself well up there today. I think  
my crew will learn to respect you.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t like to be pushed around.”  
Tom shrugged off the Maquis’ comments with  
more ease than he really felt. He glanced at  
Chakotay for a moment, and found dark,  
smouldering eyes studying him intently. “So, you  
said you wanted to see me?”

“Yes,” Chakotay seemed to hesitate for a moment,  
then went on. “I want Ayala to look you over again.  
I can call him here, if you want,” he added with a  
speaking glance at Tom’s clothing. “I want to be  
sure that you’re fit..”

“What? No, I’m fine, Captain. Really.” Tom got to  
his feet and carried his empty plate to the recylcer.  
“I don’t need to be checked over again. It’s not the  
first time I have had my lip busted. _And it won’t  
be the last, if I stay on this ship. I have no doubt  
about it._

“Nevertheless, I want you checked out. We’re  
entering the badlands tomorrow, and you will need  
to have every wit about you.”

“Oh...” Tom turned and looked at the captain, again  
meeting those intense dark eyes. “Well, if you  
insist.”

“I do.” Chakotay smiled and reached for his com  
badge. “Chakotay to Ayala.”

“Ayala here, Chakotay,” the reply was prompt, and  
Tom had to wonder if Ayala had been waiting for  
the call.

“Report to Paris’ quarters, and bring a medkit.”  
Chakotay commanded.

“Aye,” Ayala said, then added after a moment, “Is  
there any problem?”

“No, just a routine check up.” Chakotay smiled and  
cut the com link, glancing at Tom as he said. “You  
probably don’t know it, but Ayala was kind of  
pleased to see Joannes meet his match today, there  
is not much love lost between those two.”

Tom smirked and shook his head, “I don’t know  
about meeting his match. I was the one sitting on  
the deck with my lip busted.”

“True,” Chakotay allowed, but Joannes is off duty  
for the next five days while his nose heals, and the  
swelling around his eyes subsides. Ayala said he  
‘waited too long’ before having his injuries attended  
to.”

“His nose, and eyes?” Tom raised an eyebrow.  
“You mean, he...I?”

“Busted,” Chakotay said with a chuckle. “His nose  
will never look quite the same again.” He grinned at  
the look of chagrin on Tom’s face. “Don’t worry, I  
don’t think you have completely ruined his  
looks...not that he had any to begin with.”

Tom shook his head and opened his mouth to reply  
just as the door chimes sounded. “I guess that’s  
Ayala,” he said, then called, “enter.”

As the doors slid open, Ayala stepped into the  
room. He looked at Chakotay then turned his  
attention to Tom. 

“I won’t keep you long,” he said with a smirk as his  
eyes again flicked between the captain and the new  
pilot. Taking a medical tricorder from the medikit he  
carried, he waved Tom to a chair then ran the small,  
remote device over Tom’s body from head to waist  
and back. 

“The ribs appear to be healing nicely,” he  
commented to no-one in particular. “The lip has  
healed completely. You have one or two bruises,  
but otherwise you appear to be in good health.”  
Ayala shut down the tricorder. “Are you in any  
pain?”

“No.” Tom shook his head and glanced at  
Chakotay. “So, do I pass muster?”

Chakotay glanced at Ayala, and received a nod  
from the part time medic. Turning his gaze back to  
Tom, he smiled and nodded briefly. “If Greg says  
you’re well enough to fly the badlands, that’s good  
enough for me, Paris.”

“All right!” Tom couldn’t keep the enthusiasm out  
of his voice as he looked at Chakotay. “I won’t let  
you down, Captain. I give you my word.”

“Well, we’ll see how you go,” Chakotay smiled to  
take any cutting edge off his words and nodded to  
Ayala, “That’s all, Greg. Thank you.”

“Yes, sir.” Ayala packed the tricorder back into the  
medikit and made his way out of the Pilot’s  
quarters.

As the doors closed, Chakotay rose to his feet. “I  
guess you should get some sleep, Tom,” he said.

“Oh,” Tom hesitated then asked, “Can I get you  
anything else? A cup of tea? Dessert?” He watched  
the dark Captain quietly, willing him to ask for  
anything, anything to keep him there in the room.

“I really should go.” Chakotay took a half step  
towards the doors, “We’ve got a long day ahead of  
us tomorrow. Thanks for dinner.” He smiled and  
moved to the door.

“Wait...” Tom walked over to the door and stood  
next to Chakotay, looking up at him. “I...”

“What is it, Tom?” Chakotay stopped, just short of  
triggering the automatic mechanism that would open  
the doors. He studied the face of the pilot, noting  
the new light that had come into the lean,  
aristocratic features since Ayala had said he was fit  
to fly. 

“I wanted to...I just wanted...uhm...” Tom faltered,  
then raised his eyes to the Captain’s face. “Thank  
you,” he murmured. “Thank you for...” He trailed  
off, lost in the dark gaze of his rescuer and captain.  
Staring into that searching gaze, Tom felt a pulse  
throb somewhere deep inside him, and a soft  
stirring of desire in his groin. He bit his lip, lost in  
the intensity of Chakotay’s eyes. _Gods..he is so  
gorgeous..._ He swayed on his feet, irresistibly  
drawn to the man.

Blindly, he reached out, resting a hand against  
Chakotay’s muscular chest as he drew a deep  
breath and leaned closer. _Gods, oh gods, please  
don’t let him think I am doing this just for what I  
can get._ Tom closed his eyes as he  
silently prayed, and sought Chakotay’s lips with his  
own. Then, suddenly, wondrously, he was captured  
in strong arms that pulled him close, crushing him  
almost painfully as a demanding mouth returned his  
tentative kiss.

Chakotay ran his hands down over Tom’s body,  
feeling the hard, lean frame under the soft fabric of  
the nightshirt. He growled softly, running his tongue  
across Tom’s lips, seeking entrance to that sweet,  
responsive mouth as he pushed the nightshirt  
upwards, sliding his hands over warm, naked flesh.

Tom groaned as strong fingers grazed across his  
butt, kneading his flesh and pulling him closer  
against the throbbing need that he could feel  
through the fabric of Chakotay’s trousers. He  
parted his lips to allow the gently probing tongue to  
find it’s way inside his mouth. Feverishly, Tom’s  
fingers worked at the button’s of the captain’s shirt,  
trying to unfasten them as he lost himself in the  
heady sensation of being held, kissed and caressed  
by this man who just a week before had been a  
complete stranger.

Tom tipped his head backwards as Chakotay’s  
mouth trailed hot, insistent kisses from his lips,  
down to his neck. He groaned, shivers running the  
length of his spine as the Maquis sucked and  
nibbled on the sensitive skin at the base of his  
throat. “Oh gods...Chakotay...” He groaned, finally  
getting the shirt unbuttoned and sliding his hands  
over the heated flesh beneath. 

Letting his hands slide lower, Tom deftly  
unfastened Chakotay’s pants and eased them  
downwards, careful not to get them caught on the  
swollen member as he did so. Slowly moving to  
kneel in front of Chakotay, he looked up, making  
sure that Chakotay had no objections and grinning  
to himself at the blissful expression on the captain’s  
face. Carefully, he freed the thick, weeping cock  
from the confines of the Captain’s shorts and took  
the tip of it into his mouth.

 _”Well, well, what have we here?”_ Joannes’  
snide, sarcastic voice, suddenly echoed in Tom’s  
mind. _”The Captain’s whore.”_

“No!” Tom cried out and scrambled to His feet,  
backing away several paces as he stared at  
Chakotay’s shocked and surprised expression.  
“I...I c-can’t!”

“Tom, what’s wrong? What... Did..did I do  
something? Hurt you? I...”

“No...no, it’s not you. I...no. It’s nothing you did,  
it’s me. I’m sorry...” Tom bit his lower lip and  
turned away, hiding his confusion  
and shook his head. “I think...Please...just go,” He  
muttered.

“I can’t do that, Tom.” Chakotay moved to stand  
behind Tom, gently placing his hands on the  
younger man’s shoulders and turning him around.  
“Tell me what’s wrong?”

“I can’t,” Tom said softly. “I’m sorry, I should  
never have done that.” He looked into Chakotay’s  
eyes. “I am not like that...I ...like to finish what I  
start...Maybe I can...”

Chakotay shook his head and traced a thumb  
across Tom’s lower lip. “No need.. I should be going anyway.”  
Dipping his head, he brushed  
his lips gently across Tom’s one more time. “You need your rest for tomorrow  
and I have some things I need to be doing.” The  
captain released Tom’s shoulders. He adjusted his  
clothes before he walked towards the door. “I’ll  
see you on the bridge at 07:30.” He said, glancing  
back at Tom for a moment before the doors closed  
and he was gone.

“Great!” Tom walked to the couch and flung  
himself down on it. “Great going, Paris, you can’t  
even do _that_ right!” He sighed and pounded a fist  
into the arm of the couch in frustration. _Now the  
rest of the crew thinks you’re a whore, and the  
Captain thinks you’re a cock teaser!_  
"Dammit,” Tom muttered. “Damn it all to hell!”


	17. Wine is a Mocker

Vulnaq Prime, one of the planets that offered a friendly, if covert welcome to the Maquis, lies just a  
few light-years beyond the edges of the badlands. It is a class M planet, inhabited by a race of  
humanoids known as the Vulnaqi.

Members of the Federation, as far as it suits them, the Vulnaqi are a mercenary race, involved in  
trade with many other planets and races, and rivaled in their profiteering lifestyle only by the  
Ferengi.

It was to Vulnaq Prime that the small Maquis ship, 'Liberty' put in for supplies.

The crew went ashore in small groups, each one with orders from their Captain regarding what to  
buy and trade for, and what price he considered fair to pay. They bartered and traded for several  
days, sending provisions back to the ship as they were acquired and on the third day of their visit,  
with business concluded, they were granted a few hours of shore leave to relax and unwind before  
returning to duty and the guerilla warfare that had become their way of life.

Tom Paris sat in a small alcove of a smoky bar in the quarter of a Vulnaqi city known for it's  
proliferation of pirates, privateers and other riff raff. At another table, not far from where he sat,  
Seska and her compatriots huddled, drinking and casting him furtive glances from time to time.

He ignored them for the most part, knowing they were keeping an eye on him and making sure he  
was not going to return to the ship. He had taken up residence at this table four hours ago, when his  
keen instinct for trouble warned him that he was being tailed.

Not wanting to cause a stir that would bring the Maquis Captain ashore to deal with it, Tom had  
ducked into the bar, and now waited them out. They would have to go soon. Chakotay had given  
clear orders about when they were to return. Tom was sure of two things; that he would not be  
returning with them, and that he was not going to offer them any chance to give him the kind of  
sendoff he saw reflected in their malicious glances.

"Do you mind if I join you?" Tom glanced up to find a pretty, red-haired Bajoran woman standing  
next to his table. He recognized her as one of the junior staff on the Maquis ship who had  
occasionally taken over the helm when he went off duty. She held a glass in each hand and smiled  
down at him in a disarming manner.

"Sure." Tom indicated an empty seat at the table and watched her as she slid into it. She was slim  
and small, much like other women of her race, and her face was open and friendly. He had never felt  
any reason to think she was against him as many of the other crew were. He took the drink that she  
pushed across the table towards him and nodded slightly. "Thanks."

"I've heard that you decided to leave the Liberty," the woman said, studying him closely.  
"Does the Captain know?"

"I guess he will, soon enough." Tom sipped the drink and offered her a small smile. Whatever it  
was, it contained sufficient alcohol to burn his throat on the way down, and Tom found himself  
appreciating the taste. "I'm sorry," he added, "I don't recall your name."

"It's Tella," she told him, holding out her hand as though they had just met for the first time. "Brin  
Tella."

"I guess you know my name already." Tom took her hand in his own and shook it then reached  
again for his drink. The liquid burned pleasantly, and Tom felt it's warmth begin to spread through  
his belly and out into the rest of his body. _Potent stuff,_ he thought, trying to focus on the young  
woman opposite him and finding that his eyes refused to obey as they should.

Tella was speaking to him, but he couldn't quite make out what she said, her voice faded in and out  
and the words didn't seem to make any sense. Frowning, Tom glanced down at the glass in his  
hand, thinking hazily that it packed quite a kick. His head felt, heavy and the muscles of his neck  
weak. Puzzled, he looked up, intending to ask Tella what he was drinking but the woman had gone.

Tom tried to get to his feet, looking around groggily as his heart began to race.  
He gulped, struggling for breath and stumbled a pace or two before he realized that Tella had  
returned and was offering him another glass. Confused, and mildly alarmed at the way his heart  
continued to hammer against his ribs, Tom gulped at the liquid, hoping it would help to steady him.  
He looked into Tella's eyes, noticing how she had suddenly paled. _Gods ... what's happening to_  
me? He turned his head, everything seemed to slow down, while his heart raced faster and faster.  
Slowly, his eyes scanned the room until they met the dark, triumphant gaze of Seska.

Vaguely, Tom heard the sound of shattering glass, felt something splash against his legs as he  
reeled, leaning against the table to steady himself. A warm hand gripped his own, and he looked up  
to find Tella leaning over him. "I'm sorry, Tom." She shook her head and looked away, as mocking  
laughter rang out in the bar. _Seska ... she ... she's trying to kill me..._  
Tom collapsed back into his chair and let his head fall onto the table.

He thought he had sat there for hours, when a rough hand caught hold of him, fingers tangling in  
his hair, wrenching his head backwards and throwing him back in his seat. Groaning as a wave of  
nausea washed over him, Tom looked up. Dalby had hold of his hair, and Seska leaned over him.  
"Don't try to return to the ship, Starfleet! There is no place for scum like you on my crew." Seska  
muttered, spitting full in his face before he was released and allowed to slump back down on the  
table top.

_Oh gods,_ Tom thought as a dreadful buzzing sound assaulted his hearing and his heart began to  
feel as though it would burst from the strain of beating so fast. _Let me die ... I just want to die.  
Please ... I want to die!_

* * *

Chakotay paced back and forth in front of his senior crew, meeting the eyes of each officer in turn as  
he studied their faces. "I'll ask again," he said softly, his voice dangerously low. "Where is Tom  
Paris?"

One or two of them shifted their stance, moving weight from one foot to another, yet no-one spoke.  
Dalby looked sidelong at Seska, and Chakotay had to restrain the urge to knock the man off his feet.  
The group had returned from the planet more than an hour before, and Chakotay had called them to  
the bridge as soon as the transporter room reported that Paris had not returned with Seska's group.  
Chakotay stopped in front of her, meeting her eyes levelly as she stared defiantly back at him.  
"Where is he?"

"I wasn't aware that I was supposed to baby sit him, Captain." the woman lifted her chin defiantly,  
dark eyes meeting his in an unmistakable challenge. We lost track of him after we finished trading.  
He said he was going to buy some clothes. We went to get a drink. I haven't seen him since."

"He's probably lying in some gutter ... pissed ... where he belongs," someone muttered and  
Chakotay whirled about, looking for who had spoken. Searching their faces, Chakotay made eye  
contact with each officer, waiting to see who would betray himself by a flicker of an eyelash. His  
hands clenched into fists at his sides, the only outward sign of the struggle he had to keep from  
lashing out at someone. "The ship doesn't leave orbit until he is aboard." The captain ground out  
between clenched teeth. "All of you are on double rosters until I return. Ayala, with me!" Chakotay  
turned on his heel and strode off the bridge.

Entering a turbolift with Greg Ayala close on his heels, the captain stood, silent and scowling, his  
eyes fixed on the small panel at the side of the door that listed off the deck numbers. Chakotay  
didn't speak until they reached the transporter room.

Ayala cast one or two furtive glances at his commanding officer on the way to the transporter, but  
said nothing. He had seen the look on Chakotay's face often enough to know that silence was the  
best course right now. It was a look that every member of the Maquis crew had encountered before,  
and feared. Someone was in deep trouble, and everyone who saw Chakotay's face and watched him  
pass them by breathed easier, knowing he or she was not the target of the Native American's  
wrath.

Entering the transporter room, Chakotay stepped up onto the pad and waited until Ayala joined him,  
then he gave a brief nod to the transporter chief. "Energize." His tone was curt, firm, and edged with  
the ice that seemed to glitter in the depths of his dark eyes.

_Dammit, Paris,_ Chakotay thought as he felt the transporter envelope him in it's tingling embrace.  
 _I am going to kick your ass all the way back to the ship when we find you. If you're drunk ... so help me, I'll..._  
He left the thought there as he felt the sensation of firm ground under his feet, and the  
tingling sensation gradually eased. As he stood there, the silvery mist of the transporter slowly  
dissipated and buildings began to take shape around him. Glancing at Greg, Chakotay jerked his  
head and began to walk along the street. "If I know anything about him at all, he will have headed  
for the less frequented areas of the city." He didn't wait for a reply, but walked briskly along the  
street, ignoring the passers by who dodged out of the way of the scowling stranger.

They searched for three hours, scouring every bar they could find. Chakotay fuming, and Greg  
making quiet inquiries in each seedy establishment they visited. No-one had seen, or was willing to  
admit to seeing a fair haired terran with blue eyes. Time wore on, and Chakotay's initial rage began  
to cool into a slow burning, steady anger. 

By the time they entered the tenth bar, Chakotay's reason had begun to work once more, and he was  
able to ask after Tom without terrifying his informants into silence. He approached a man at the bar  
and described Tom to him. "Have you seen him?" 

"That would depend on who's looking for him, and how much they're willing to pay to find him."  
The man replied. He was slightly taller than the Maquis Captain, with glittering green eyes and a  
smile that would have rivaled tom Paris' own for arrogance. 

"I'll pay you if I find him." Chakotay stood his ground, folding his arms across his chest and  
waiting in silence. 

"Are you law enforcers? I never sold anyone to the law, in any sector. I'm not about to start." Green  
eyes studied Chakotay keenly and a slow leer spread across the man's face. "Of course, if you're  
not law, and there's something else you have in mind ... I'll be happy to accommodate you ... and  
you friend there." He nodded to Ayala. "I'm good at what I do, and your terran might well have  
gone home with someone else." 

"This terran is a member of my crew." Chakotay smiled slightly and leaned against the bar. "I'm not  
law, and I am not looking for anything else ... for myself or my friend." He slipped a strip of latinum  
out of his pocket and placed it casually on the bar. "Have you seen him or not?" 

"I've seen him." The green eyed man reached for the latinum, but was stopped by a firm hand on his  
wrist. Looking up, he met the cold eyes of the dark stranger and smiled slightly. "I'll tell you where." 

"No." Chakotay picked up the latinum and put it back in his pocket. "You'll take us there, and when  
I find my crewman, you'll receive your payment." 

* * *

Tom leaned against the table top in the bar, hardly moving. He didn't dare to move, as long as he  
was still, his heartbeat was steady, although fast, and his head didn't spin, He lay as still as he  
could, and breathed in short, shallow gasps. _Gods, I'm dying,_ he thought wretchedly.  
 _I'm dying, and no-one on this god forsaken planet gives a damn._ Groaning aloud,  
he carefully shifted position, trying to escape the searing fire in his belly. He whimpered as pain  
exploded like flames behind his eyelids. "Christ!"  
 _Lie still ... just lie still. Everything is OK as long as you don't move,_ he told himself. 

"Ahhh!" Tom screamed and writhed in pain as a large hand seized hold of a handful of his hair and  
jerked him upright. Light assaulted his eyes, sending bolts of agony ripping through his head and  
Tom twisted in the unrelenting grip of his assailant, trying to make his eyes focus so he could see  
who was holding him. 

Vaguely, Tom was aware of hands roughly searching him. He had no strength to resist, and let them  
riffle through his pockets, taking away what little money he had left before he was flung to the floor  
and left for dead. _Well, that rules out buying a passage back home. All you have now are the_  
clothes on your back and what little breath you have left in your body. 

He lay there, semiconscious for a long time, half aware of people moving around him, feet bumping  
against his body, and muttered curses in alien tongues. No-one attempted to help him, no one  
seemed to care whether he was alive or dead. He kept his eyes closed, praying to be left in peace,  
praying for death, longing for his heart to slow down. 

When a hand came to rest on his Shoulder, Tom groaned, feebly attempting to avoid the touch,  
which sent pain rippling through him. "I ... can't let you have the shirt..." he muttered. "It's  
borrowed." 

He was rolled onto his back, and gentle hands ran over him, probing and examining him for injuries.  
Tom whimpered and tried to shield his eyes from the light, straining to focus on the man who knelt  
on the floor beside him. "Ch...Chakotay?" he asked, blinking against the light and trying to make his  
eyes work. 

"I thought I told you, no booze!" The captain's voice reached him from what seemed like a light-year  
away.

"B...but..." Tom struggled to answer but his tongue felt thick and furred, clinging to the roof of his  
mouth. _I only had one drink!_ He coughed, and whimpered again. "Why...why'd you ...c-come aft'  
me?" He thought he heard the Captain mutter something about wishing he knew. Closing his eyes  
on a sigh of despair, Tom berated himself. _Screw-up, Paris...you're just a frigging screw-up!_ Aloud  
he said: "Forgive me if I don't get up." Even now, in his misery, the reflexive sarcasm and smart-  
mouthed attitude coming to the fore. 

"On your feet!" Chakotay grabbed Tom's arm and stood up, hauling the pilot to his feet by sheer  
force. Shoving the man towards Greg, he snarled. "Take this idiot back to the ship and clean him up!" 


	18. Actions have consequences

Chakotay beamed back aboard the ship after paying the green-eyed rogue that had   
led him to Tom. He still fumed, running over in his mind the events that had led to   
this situation. Paris had seemed to settle into the routine of the ship well, and   
followed Chakotay’s orders about booze and drugs without complaint. The captain   
couldn’t understand why that had suddenly changed. Had Paris merely been   
pretending to go along with his command until he found an opportunity to   
disobey? Chakotay sighed and shook his head. Whatever it was, he intended to   
find out.

Walking along the hallway towards Paris’ quarters, the captain struggled to regain   
some of his composure. As he halted at the door, he closed his eyes, rubbing the   
back of his neck with both hands to ease the knot of tension that had settled there.   
After a moment, he pressed the door-chimes and waited for Paris to call him in.

“Come on, Paris!” Chakotay stabbed a finger at the door-chimes again. When there   
was no response, frustration began to rise. Chakotay pressed his lips into a thin   
line, keying in an override key to the quarters. “Paris!” he called as he stepped into   
the room.

Tom jumped at the harsh sound of Chakotay’s voice, coming out of a fitful sleep on   
the sofa. “Who’s there?” he called, groggily as he struggled to focus his eyes in   
the gloom.

Chakotay looked around, straining to see where Paris was. With a sigh of   
frustration, he ordered the computer to raise the lights to twenty-five percent,   
finally locating the pilot lying on the sofa.

Tom flinched, closing his eyes against the sudden illumination. “Turn down those   
damned lights, would you?”

Ignoring the request, Chakotay glared at Tom. “You keep some sorry company,   
Paris. Did they buy you a drink and then empty your pockets? That was a months   
wages I gave you to take down to that planet with you!”

Tom snorted, laying a forearm across his eyes to block out the painful light. “Can it,   
Chakotay, I don’t need any lectures from you, and if it’s the money you’re worried   
about, I am sure I can find some way to repay you.”

“Don’t give me the smart-assed bullshit, Paris!” Chakotay reached the sofa in two long   
strides. “What the hell were you thinking? I told you, no booze!”

Slowly, Tom sat up on the sofa, keeping his head low and his eyes half closed   
against the lights. His head pounded still, although he was glad that whatever   
Ayala had given him had brought his heart beat back under control. “I didn’t buy   
any booze,” he said softly. “Well, not enough to knock me off my feet like that. In   
fact, I didn’t buy any drink at all. That little Bajoran, what’s her name? The one that   
takes the helm sometimes, she bought me the drink.”

Chakotay snorted and turned away, pushing a hand through his thick, dark hair. “Is   
that the way you solve all your problems? Put the blame on someone else...damn it,   
Paris, why can’t you take some responsibility for your own actions, just for once?”   
He heard the pilot’s sharp intake of breath, and regretted the words almost the   
instant they were spoken. 

Closing his eyes, Chakotay shook his head, turning to face Tom, only to find an   
almost tangible wall of rage between them as Tom glared at him. The pilot’s face   
was paler than it had been if that was possible, and his blue eyes snapped sparks of   
anger as he got unsteadily to his feet.

“Fuck you, Chakotay!” Tom spat the words, his expression closed, smothering any   
hint of emotion. “Why bother coming here at all, if you won’t listen to what I have   
to say? Did you say you were just leaving?”

Chakotay sighed softly and took a step towards the door. After a moment he   
paused and looked back. “Why, Tom?” he asked. “Why? I sat here with you,   
nursed you through the worst of the withdrawals...you seemed to be settling down   
here. Why did you go and get yourself mindless drunk?”

“Would you just shut up and listen to me? Stop playing the all wise, all knowing all   
fucking glorious captain for just one minute and pay attention!” Tom sank down on   
the sofa, his legs seeming to give way under him as his shoulders drooped. He   
rubbed his face with both hands. “I went to that bar to get away from Seska and her   
buddies,” he said quietly.

Chakotay took a deep breath, and let it go slowly; he decided against reprimanding   
Tom for his attitude. He forced his shoulders to relax, as he listened to what the   
pilot had to say.

“They followed me and told me not to come back to the ship.” Tom paused and   
looked up. “You were the one who sent me to the planet with her group, Captain,   
what did you expect? They were gunning for me from the moment I was out of your   
sight.”

“All right, I’ll accept that,” Chakotay said. “But no-one forced you to drink.”

“I was scared!” Tom hissed. “I had one drink! It was laced, it had to be!” He gave a   
short, bitter laugh. “Tom Paris, scared. What a joke!”

Narrowing his eyes, Chakotay began to pace. “Laced...”

“I had one drink,” Tom insisted, “that little Bajoran bought it for me. I felt sick   
halfway through it, but I figured it must be because I hadn’t touched the stuff for   
so long, or maybe it was just nerves. I don’t know... I only know, I felt sick. Nerves,   
you know what they are, Chakotay? Or have you never felt threatened before?   
Everyone does what the tough Maquis Captain tells them to.”

“Are you telling me that Tella doped you?” Chakotay pinned Paris with a glare that   
would have frozen any one to the spot. “I don’t believe that!” Chakotay shook his   
head. Brin Tella was one of the few members of his crew that Chakotay knew,   
without a doubt he could trust. Close friends with Ayala and Torres, the woman   
would never do such a thing, Chakotay was sure of that.

“I don’t know, Chakotay,” Tom replied with a slight shake of his head, wincing at   
the movement. “I only know she brought the drink. She whispered something about   
being sorry just before I passed out. Why don’t you talk to her before you throw   
me off the ship?”

Chakotay shook his head. “I would trust Tella with my life, she’s clean.”

“Look,” Tom struggled unsteadily to his feet. “Why don’t we just do each other a   
favor and part company?”

“You’re not going anywhere, Paris!” Chakotay gripped Tom’s arms in a powerful   
grip. “I hired you as a pilot for this ship, and I’ve advanced you a months pay.   
Don’t even think I am going to let you leave!”

“That’s all I am to you isn’t it?” Tom choked, “Some fucking item that you bought   
for a few strips of latinum! That’s all I have been to anyone since they threw me out   
of Star Fleet!”

Chakotay frowned, perplexed by the soft burr of tears in the pilot’s voice. “Tom?”

“Don’t you ‘Tom’ me! I don’t mean a thing to you.” Tom snarled, “All you’re   
interested in is me flying some damned suicide mission for you. It’s not like you   
could ask one of your precious Maquis crew to do it, but hell, send Paris, he’s   
trash, he’s expendable!” Tom’s voice broke over the last few words and tears   
spilled down his cheeks.

“Stop that!” Chakotay shook him. “That’s not true!”

Tom dashed at the tears running down his face with the back of one hand, looking   
up to meet Chakotay’s eyes. In that moment, Chakotay saw a flash of naked agony,   
a soul in torment and his heart twisted with a pain of it’s own; remorse for causing   
that kind of suffering, or for causing it to resurface.

“I didn’t go against your orders, Captain,” Tom murmured, his voice thick and   
rough with emotion. “I went to that pub to get away from trouble, but as usual,   
trouble found me.”

With a shake of his head, Chakotay dismissed the subject. “It doesn’t matter, Tom.   
It doesn’t matter. Listen to me, did Ayala say anything to you about drugs?   
Anything at all?”

“No, I don’t think so. I don’t know.” Tom frowned thoughtfully, trying to remember   
what, if anything Greg Ayala had said to him. “I don’t remember,” he said after a   
moment, then looked into the captain’s eyes. “I’m sorry, Chakotay. I’m sorry that it   
took time for you to find me. I’m sorry that it cost you money. I ... I didn’t betray   
your trust. You have to believe me! I wouldn’t do that, not after everything you’ve   
done for me.”

Chakotay stared into searching blue eyes, reading the sincerity in them, as Tom   
pleaded with him to believe what he was saying. Slowly, he drew Tom closer,   
pulling the younger man into his arms, as he continued to gaze into the misty, blue   
eyes of the beautiful blonde. “Tom...I...” Chakotay tightened his arms around   
Tom’s waist and sought the man’s lips with his own.

Tom allowed himself to be drawn into the kiss, surrendering his lips to the gentle,   
searching pressure of the Maquis captain’s mouth. _Gods, Chakotay, please don’t_  
be using me, I can’t take much more...He thought, before all coherent thought   
was swept away by the sweet, demanding passion of the older man.

Deepening the kiss, Chakotay pulled Tom closer, trailing his tongue across Tom’s   
lips as he sought admittance to the sweet responsive mouth. He growled with   
pleasure when Tom willingly parted his lips and allowed their tongues to meet in a   
playful dance of discovery. Chakotay raised a hand, gently stroking Tom’s jaw,   
trailing his fingers down Tom’s throat to his shoulder, exploring the smoothness of   
the pilot’s skin, and delighting in the soft moan of desire which answered his gentle   
touch.

Drawing back a little, Chakotay searched Tom’s face, seeking any sign of hesitation   
as he asked. “Are you sure this is what you want?”

Tom nodded, passing his tongue across his lips in an unconscious gesture of   
desire. “I … yes, I do, please. I want you.” He paused, with a quick glance towards   
the bedroom, “Not here. In there, if that’s okay?”

Chakotay had to smother a grin, staring into the vulnerable eyes of the younger   
man, noting the mingled fear and desire, suddenly, he knew that none of this was a   
front. Tom wanted him, that was true, the desire that shone from the depths of the   
blue eyes that looked back at him was plain, and the fact that it mattered to Tom   
where they were when they came together, touched a chord somewhere deep in   
Chakotay’s core. He pulled Tom close, gazing into his eyes as he whispered,   
“You’re not trash, Tom … You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever met. I want to   
make this perfect for you.”

“It’s been a while, ah, since I’ve wanted this, if you know what I mean.” Tom   
hesitated, lowering his gaze as he spoke so softly that Chakotay had to strain to   
hear his words. “Chakotay, I have a reputation. A reputation I am ashamed of, but it   
helped me to survive.” He gave a slight shake of his head. “But you have to believe me,  
whatever else I've done, I'm not a whore."

“Come on,” Chakotay said, stroking Tom’s cheek with a gentle hand. “Let’s go to   
bed.” He stepped back, tangling his fingers with Tom’s and walked backwards   
towards the bedroom, leading Tom, and never letting his gaze waver from the   
younger man’s eyes.


	19. Morning After

Tom woke before Chakotay the next morning, and lay quietly for a while,  
trying to remember where he was, and what he was doing there. A movement,  
and a muffled snore from behind him, brought back the previous night in  
glaring detail, and Tom groaned softly, edging his way to the side of the  
bed and sitting up.

It had been a disaster, though Tom was sure that Chakotay didn't think so.  
The big Native American had no doubt had the time of his life.

Well, it wasn't as if Chakotay wasn't a good lover. He was considerate and  
gentle, making sure that Tom was happy. Tom had to give him that. _It's  
just me who is a total fuck up_ , he thought bitterly.

Standing up, Tom glanced over his shoulder at the sleeping Captain and shook  
his head. _But you would think he would have noticed...realised...something._  
He sighed and headed towards the bathroom.  
 _Well, I can always take care of this myself._

"Tom?" Chakotay's voice froze the pilot in his tracks.

For an instant, he was still, then casually bent down to pick up a pair of  
shorts from the floor. "Good morning," he said softly. Slipping the shorts  
on, he continued towards the bathroom. "Sleep well?"

"Like a log." Chakotay replied and Tom heard the soft rustling sounds as the  
Captain got out of bed. "Do you want anything? Coffee? Breakfast?"

"Yeah," Tom replied as he shut the door behind himself. "Just a coffee will  
be fine, thanks."

As the door closed behind him, Tom sank down on the side of the bathtub and  
closed his eyes. He was glad that he'd had his back to Chakotay when the  
Captain woke. At least he hadn't had to explain the obvious source of his  
discomfort. He sighed softly and reached for his aching cock that pressed  
against the soft fabric of his shorts. _I hafta do something about this._

Although Tom had taken great pleasure from Chakotay's lovemaking the  
previous night, when Chakotay had come, spending himself deep inside Tom's  
body; Tom was mortified to realise he had, in the crudest terms, been the  
victim of a 'misfire.' _The trigger jammed...the hammer fell but the ammo  
was wet... Christ...what a hopeless screw up you are, Paris!_

Stroking gently up and down the shaft of his aching member, Tom scraped his  
thumbnail across the small slit at the head and groaned in pleasure as he  
felt the tightening sensation that signalled the approaching orgasm. He  
closed his eyes, letting his head fall backwards and moaned deep in his  
throat.

He increased the pace, gripping tighter around the throbbing shaft as he  
lost himself in the delightful sensation that rippled through his body to  
explode in his brain like repeated torpedo strikes. _ohhh gods...that's  
it...that's it...come..._

"Tom...are you all...oh shit...sorry!" Chakotay's voice burst upon his mind,  
bringing the pleasure to a grinding, screaming halt, as Tom's eyes flew  
open, to find the Maquis standing in the doorway, coffee mug in hand, and  
eyes wide with shock and dismay.

Feeling the flaming red flush of shame and embarrassment rush to his cheeks,  
Tom took refuge in the only thing he could think of. "Fuckit, Chakotay! Don't  
you ever fucking knock?!"

"I...I heard you...I thought that something was wrong. I...I'm sorry."  
Chakotay took a step back, away from the door and Tom pushed past him into  
the bedroom.

"Hell! Don't you think, maybe - just maybe, a closed door indicates a desire  
for privacy?" Tom could hear his father's voice mingled with his own, as his  
words became clipped and precise with anger. He winced, and shook his head.  
"Besides," he added scathingly. "It's your fault I had to do that anyway.  
You frigging have a good time last night?" He turned and glared at Chakotay  
"I thought you would be different...but you're just the same as any  
other fucking trick I ever met!"

Chakotay blinked, outrage quickly replacing the stunned look that had  
suffused his features a moment before. "What the hell are you talking  
about?"

"Why don't you just get the hell out! I'm not going anywhere. I owe you  
money...You can have my services until I repay the months wages you so  
fucking generously gave me!"

"You have a mouth like a marine, Paris. Shut it! I'm not going anywhere  
until you explain to me what the hell is going on here!"

Tom drew a deep breath and let it out with a soft huffing sound. "Yes, sir,"  
he said, his voice still edged with rage. There could be no doubt that  
Chakotay had just given him a direct order. He stood a little straighter and  
slipped his hands behind his back in the classic Starfleet 'attention.'  
 _Just like him to pull rank to get his own way._ He almost sneered, but  
schooled his features into careful neutrality.

Chakotay didn't say anything; he just shook his head and walked into the  
living area.

Tom stood where he was for a moment, then he picked up his shirt from the  
floor and put it on, making his way out to the living room, where he watched  
Chakotay for several moments without speaking. His anger leached away and  
he realised he'd been more than a little unreasonable. "Are you all right?" he asked  
at length.

"I feel like an asshole." Chakotay's reply was mumbled, almost indistinct.

"No. I'm the asshole." Tom moved over to the chair Chakotay sat in and  
hunkered down in front of him. "None of this is your fault."

Chakotay looked into his eyes and sighed, his expression unreadable as he  
said softly. "What's wrong, Tom? Did I do something ... did I hurt you?"

Tom shook his head slightly and reached out to touch Chakotay's arm,  
admiring the curve of muscle under the bronzed flesh, kneading gently as his  
free hand moved towards Chakotay's groin. "No, you didn't hurt me..."

He looked up into Chakotay's eyes. "Let me make you feel better?" he purred,  
putting every ounce of seductive power he could muster into the words and  
was stunned when Chakotay gently gripped his wrist, stopping him from  
unfastening his fly.

"No." Chakotay shook his head and gently pushed Tom away.

Tom frowned, looking away to cover the hurt he felt at such a flat  
rejection. After a moment he stood up. "Why?" his arms went across his chest  
in the classic Paris shields up #1 position. "Aren't I good enough for you  
any more?"

"That's not it, Tom, and I think you know it." Chakotay's voice was soft  
with resignation.

"Then... why? I don't understand?" Tom frowned.

"Because you would be making yourself cheap, Tom. If I let you do that now,  
on those terms, you would never forgive yourself. You're not a whore, Tom,  
no matter what you may have had to do to survive before now...and I won't  
let you behave like one."

"Oh! I see, but it's ok for you to _treat_ me like a whore anytime you like!  
Is that it?" Tom let his hands fall to his side, anger bubbling to the  
surface again as he glared at Chakotay.

When the Captain leaped to his feet and faced him squarely, Tom flinched and  
took an involuntary backward step, his hands coming up in a quick defensive  
reaction to shield his face.

"What the hell is the matter with you?" Chakotay demanded. He caught hold of  
Tom's hands and pulled them away from his face.

"It's just that I thought making love involved both partners having a good  
time!" Tom blurted. "And you just rolled off me and went to sleep. How was I  
supposed to feel?"

Chakotay's face clouded for a moment; then, slowly realisation dawned as Tom's  
words sank in. "So that's what this is about!" He stared into Tom's  
eyes for a moment. "Spirits, Tom...I'm sorry!"

"Hey, don't sweat it. It's no big deal." Tom turned away with a shrug. "Anyway, shouldn't we get moving? We'll  
be late for bridge duty."

Chakotay glanced at the chronometer on the wall and sighed softly. "You're  
right," he said reluctantly. "But we're not done with this yet. I want to  
talk with you after shift. We need to settle a few things between us."

"OK." Tom headed back into the bathroom and activated the shower. He had to  
admit, Chakotay was not easy to put off, but he couldn't let that worry him  
right now, he had a trip into the badlands to deal with that day, and he  
needed to focus all of his attention on that.

The last time he had piloted the Maquis ship into that area had been hairy  
to say the least, and he couldn't afford to let his mind focus on anything  
other than the helm, and how to steer a safe course through. _Gods, I hope_  
I don't have any flashbacks this time...I don't know if I can control them  
in my current state of mind.


	20. Lightning Strikes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains several flashback sequences they will be set apart with a ruled line hopefully it won't be too confusing.

"We're coming up on the badlands, Captain." Tom reported, his fingers  
dancing lightly over controls as he worked the helm console. ETA three minutes."

Chakotay nodded an acknowledgment, "Take us in, Paris." He leaned back in  
his chair, watching the Pilot quietly, he knew, as well as Tom did, that  
this would prove his worth to the rest of the crew. There were not many  
pilots in Star Fleet, or anywhere else, that could safely negotiate the  
badlands with it's constant plasma flares and turbulence. He watched the  
slim fingers of the pilot as Tom calculated and laid in an entrance course.

Tom was aware of the Captain's quiet scrutiny; he felt it as a soft,  
prickling sensation in the flesh on the back of his neck. He smiled  
slightly, concentrating on his work, and keeping his mind on finding a  
course through the plasma storms that began to show up on his navigational  
screen as bright, swirling patches of brilliant blue, red and yellow. He  
licked his lips, keeping the thought of what they looked like to the human  
eye at the back of his mind. He could not afford to give way to that old  
fear now.

Chakotay narrowed his eyes, noting the sudden tension in Tom's posture,  
wondering briefly what had caused it, before he dismissed it. _He's about to_  
enter the badlands, of course he's going to be a little edgy.The Captain  
looked at the viewer, watching as the edge of the badlands loomed closer on  
the screen. It was a risky place to hide out, at best, but with the added  
benefit of hiding his ships' warp signature from sensor sweeps. It made a  
good means of travelling to their base camp without being followed.  
Provided the pilot of a ship was alert and knew how to handle the turbulent  
conditions, the badlands could be negotiated without undue worry. Chakotay  
knew enough about Paris' record to know that the badlands should not present  
a problem to him.

"We're entering the badlands now, sir." Tom swallowed and took a deep  
breath, struggling to keep his mind focussed. _Don't lose it now, Tommy,_ he  
urged himself, forcing his fingers to move over the controls, adjusting  
course to compensate for the unpredictable shifts in the magnetic fields  
swirling around the ship.

 _Fear is a weakness that I will not tolerate, Thomas!_ Tom almost froze as  
his father's voice cut through his mind. He closed his eyes and shook his  
head slightly; taking another deep breath and letting it go, shakily. He  
glanced at the navigational viewer and stared at the swirling patterns  
displayed there. _Stay with it, Tom!_

Watching, as Tom seemed to hesitate for an instant, Chakotay pushed himself  
out of his seat. "Paris? Is there a problem?" He walked over to stand behind  
the pilot, restraining the urge to put a hand on Tom's shoulder.

"Nothing I can't handle, sir," Tom replied. He was painfully aware of  
Chakotay's presence right behind him, and he gritted his teeth. _Get a grip,  
Paris! You're lightyears away from that little, frightened boy._

"Plasma storm activity is increasing, Captain." Ayala read his console as he  
reported. "The plasma is reacting to our warp field."

Tom heard the report and moved to make an adjustment. "Attempting to  
compensate." He tapped a control to bring the warp engines down to impulse,  
feeling cold sweat break out on his forehead as he fought to keep his eyes  
averted from the flashing, turbulent activity that he was aware of on the  
main view screen. _If I don't look at it, it won't scare me._ The voice this  
time was his own, but childish, fluting, a memory from when he was about  
eight years old.

* * *

There had been a sudden storm that night, on the planet where he was staying  
with his father and Lindy. The Admiral had been sent there for some kind of  
conference, and for once, had decided to take Thomas along with him. Tom had  
thought it was exciting, until they arrived on the planet and he discovered  
that it was prone to severe magnetic storms. 

Tom was terrified of storms, and would do anything to avoid them. When the  
storm hit, he'd hidden in his bedroom with the solar shields activated to  
block out the brilliant lightning. It was the bright, bluish, flashes that  
terrified him, more than the thunder. "As long as I can't see it, it's ok."  
He said to himself, huddling on the bed with his eyes shut tight. 

The storm seemed to rage on for hours, thunder rumbling and crashing outside  
the house where the Admiral had left his son with the housekeeper. Tom could  
only huddle, afraid and alone on his bed, praying that it would end soon,  
that the storm and his fear would be gone before Admiral Paris returned. Tom  
knew his father would see his fright as a weakness, and he was desperate to  
make sure this unexpected trip with the Admiral would work out better than  
previous ones he had been on. 

* * *

"Tom?" Chakotay stepped forward, moving closer to the pilot as he noticed a  
shudder pass through the slight frame of the younger man.

"Captain, we're drifting too close to that plasma storm on the port side!"  
Ayala, frowned over his console, casting Tom a swift glance as he called the  
warning.

Tom didn't hear either Chakotay's quiet enquiry, or Ayala's warning. He was  
caught in the throes of a waking nightmare, his mind refusing to leave the  
scene in that darkened room, so long ago.

* * *

To Tom's young and completely terrified mind, it seemed as though his father's arrival  
was precipitated by a tremendous crash of thunder that shook the  
house at the same moment as a brilliant blue bolt of plasma lit the room and  
Admiral Paris shouted: "Thomas Eugene!" 

Sitting bolt upright on the bed, Tommy whimpered. His father was home, and  
the storm still raged outside. Admiral Paris was going to know that Tommy  
was afraid. It was not good to be afraid, the Admiral had told him that a  
hundred times before. "Parises are brave, they don't let a little thunder  
frighten them!" 

Tommy stood up beside the bed and stared at the door of his bedroom in  
horror as he heard heavy footsteps approaching along the hallway. He did his  
best to stand up straight, and stop his body from trembling, but his fear of  
the storm, coupled with his dread of punishment made it impossible for the  
boy to control the tremors. 

As the door swished open and his father's form loomed large and imposing in  
the light from the hallway, Tommy took an involuntary backwards step,  
sitting down on the bed when his legs came against it. 

"Thomas! I've been calling you for the last five minutes! Why didn't you  
answer?" Admiral Paris stepped into the room, staring down at the small,  
trembling form of his son. "Well, answer me, Thomas!" 

"Hello, s-sir." Tommy pushed himself back onto his feet and straightened his shoulders. He raised his eyes to his father's face. "Di-did you have a nice  
evening?" 

"Why are you hiding away in here, Thomas?" The Admiral refused to be swayed  
from his course. He scowled as a brilliant flash of lightning lit the room,  
causing Tom to flinch visibly. "You know I won't tolerate this foolishness,  
Thomas! I've told you before, fear is weakness." He paused, seemed to  
consider something for a moment, then reached out and seized hold of Tom's  
shoulder. "A weakness that needs to be broken, right now!" 

* * *

"Tom!" Chakotay stepped forward quickly, reaching over Tom's shoulder to tap  
a command into the helm console, steering the ship away from the edge of a  
swirling morass of plasma seconds before they drifted into the magnetic  
field.

"Sir!" Ayala cried out, shaking his head at the readings on his console. "We're too  
close.I." He never finished the sentence as a bolt of plasma snaked  
out from the storm they had narrowly evaded, striking at the ship, shaking  
it and sending several crew members reeling from their consoles.

"Shields at ninety-eight per cent, captain." Ayala tapped at his console. "Attempting  
to compensate."

"Acknowledged." Chakotay returned his attention to the pilot. "Paris." He  
put a hand on Tom's shoulder and was surprised when the man jerked away as  
though he'd been burned. "Tom, what's..."

"Torres to Chakotay," the part Klingon engineer broke in over the coms  
system. "What the hell is going on up there?"

"We've encountered some problems with the plasma storms," Chakotay replied.  
"We're attempting to..."

"You mean, you've encountered some problems with your pilot!" Torres cut in  
on Chakotay's words. "Shit, Starfleet, were you taught to fly by a Horta,  
or did you steal your fucking licence? Keep the ship out of the plasma, I've  
got enough on my mind without having to repair shield generators!"

* * *

Tommy shrank away from the heavy hand that descended on his shoulder, he had  
seen the look on his father's face before, and knew that it meant trouble.  
Admiral Paris' features took on a pinched, strained look when he was about  
to discipline his son. It was the same look he'd worn when he returned from  
the Cardassian prison. It had scared Tommy then, and now, it terrified him  
as the Admiral dragged him out of the room, and marched him along the  
hallway. 

"Sir? Please, sir." Tommy dragged his feet a little, not quite daring to  
struggle free. "Where are we going?" He received no reply other than a  
convulsive tightening of the Admiral's fingers on his small shoulder, and he  
whimpered, shrinking back as he realized they were headed for the back  
entrance to the house. 

Without a word, never looking at the boy, Admiral Owen Paris dragged the  
terrified child outside, into the very storm that was the source of his  
distress. He forced Tommy to walk with him across the yard of the house and  
came to a stop outside the door of a supply shed. 

"You will sit in here, and watch the storm through the window." He muttered,  
pulling Tommy into the shed and dragging him across to some storage  
containers. He lifted his son bodily and sat him on the top of one  
container, facing the one, unshielded, and grimy window. "Don't you dare to  
move, Thomas! It is time you learned to face your fears and overcome them!" 

Tommy could only watch in helpless terror as his father turned and left the  
shed, sealing the door behind him. 

* * *

"No, please." Tom whispered, oblivious to the Maquis Captain, or to anything  
else around him. He whimpered softly, closing his eyes and taking his hands  
from the helm to press them to his ears. "Please don't leave me here!" he  
begged, shaking uncontrollably.

Chakotay stared at Tom in dismay, then made a snap decision. He gently  
pushed Tom aside and tapped a command into the helm, bringing the ship to full  
stop and deactivating the impulse engines.

Turning to Ayala, he said, "Help me with him." Taking hold of Tom's arm, he  
pulled the Pilot to his feet, waiting as Ayala took hold of the other arm.  
"Let's get him to his quarters," he said softly. "Jaonnes, you have the  
bridge."

* * *

Tom lay on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. He was calm; the flashback  
ended by a merciful dose of some sedative that Ayala had given him. He  
glanced sideways at Chakotay and grimaced ruefully. "I'm sorry."

Chakotay sighed and shook his head. "What happened, Tom?"

Swallowing hard, Tom looked away. "I remembered something.from years ago. It's  
not something I want to talk about," he muttered. "I'll be fine."

"You don't seem fine, Tom." Chakotay sat on the side of the bed and reached  
for Tom's shoulder. He sighed when Tom jerked away from his touch. "Tom, I  
only want to help you. But to do that, I need to know what made you lose it  
up there."

Tom closed his eyes and shook his head; "It's nothing. I told you I can  
handle it. It's just that with everything else today, I wasn't able to keep  
focussed." He drew a deep breath and let it go. _There's no way I can tell_  
him what a coward I was. How I covered my ears and howled until the storm  
ended, and then I curled up in a ball on top of that container and fell into  
exhausted sleep.and how in the morning when dad came to get me..

* * *

"Thomas!" Admiral Paris leaned over his son, shaking him awake. 

"Dad?" At first, Tommy couldn't remember where he was. He blinked in the  
early morning light that blazed in through the open doorway. There was no  
sign of the violent storm that had raged long into the night. 

"Get up, Thomas. You're soaked, and you stink!" 

With shame, Tommy recalled the night before and his terror of the storm. He  
sat up, stiffly, his cheeks flaming bright scarlet. "I - I'm sorry, Dad. I." 

"Go and bathe." Admiral Paris stood aside, his face a hard mask of disgust.  
"I will send you home this afternoon. 

"Dad!" Tommy turned to look at his father, as he slid down off the storage  
containers. "Please, don't make me go home.I promise I'll try harder!" 

"My decision is not open for discussion, Thomas. Go and bathe, then pack  
your things, now." The Admiral watched his son, coldly, implacable. 

With no other choice, Tommy turned and walked out of the shed. He'd boarded  
a shuttle the same afternoon, sent back to earth in shame with the beloved  
housekeeper, Lindy. 

* * *

_Dad never took me anywhere again._ Tom thought dismally. He turned his  
eyes to Chakotay's face and said softly. "I'm sorry I screwed up. I guess  
this means I won't be staying here any more?"

"We'll talk about that later," Chakotay replied. "The main thing now is that  
you should rest." He stood up and moved towards the door. "I'll be back in a  
few hours."


	21. Dark Spirits

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter contains scenes of non consensual sex. Probably tame  
> by some people's standards, but it squicked me to write, so I am giving you  
> fair warning.

As soon as he stepped back onto the Bridge, Chakotay's fears were confirmed.  
Every eye turned to him, and every bridge officer moved away from his or her  
console to face the Captain. Even B'Elanna Torres had come out of the engine  
room to join in this impromptu meeting.

Chakotay sighed, acknowledging that whatever he said now, would make or  
break Tom's future with the Maquis crew.

Seska was the first to speak, her tone, just edging on disrespect as she  
stepped forward. "So he has had his chance, and we have all had _ample_  
opportunity to judge Paris on his merits or lack of them."

Chakotay looked into her dark eyes, reading the veiled expression in them,  
then looked away, running his eyes over the rest of the crew. Even Ayala  
looked doubtful and Chakotay frowned slightly.

"He nearly got us all killed, Chakotay," Seska pressed. "And..." she glanced  
around at her crewmates. "Here we are, sitting in the middle of the  
badlands, just waiting for the first federation or Cardassian ship to come  
along and blast us to the celestial temple." She smirked. "So much for your  
hotshot pilot!"

"Paris is ill." Chakotay glared at Seska, then each crewmember in turn,  
daring any of them to contradict his assessment.

"He's a loser!" Seska sauntered forward. "We've been fair, Captain, you  
asked us to give him a chance to prove himself, and we did." She tossed her  
head and turned to the others. "I say we put him ashore, as soon as we get  
out of here."

Gritting his teeth, Chakotay moved past Seska, effectively placing himself  
between her and the other Maquis crew. "Listen to me! We don't have anyone  
on this ship who is capable of flying the badlands.Paris can do it. I have  
faith in him.he was ill and that's why he reacted the way that he did. I won't  
put him ashore. I am still the captain of this ship."

"Chakotay!" B'Elanna stepped forward, face to face with her captain. "You're  
not thinking straight! You were here; you saw what happened! I've got a  
fused shield reactor coil to show you if you need any more proof! Paris is  
not capable of flying this ship!" She stared into his eyes, her dark ones  
flashing with intensity. "We have to get out of here, I'll grant you that,  
and if Paris can do it, I say let him but after that, we find another pilot,  
Chakotay! You know we can't afford damage to the ship we don't have the  
resources for constant repairs!"

"Not thinking straight?" Seska rounded on Chakotay. "He's thinking just  
fine with his cock! Where is your brain,  
Captain? Are you so captivated by that pretty boy's ass that you can't even  
see the plain truth?"

This time, she had pushed too far. Chakotay lunged at her, and was only  
stopped from knocking the smirk off her face by Ayala and Torres stepping  
between them both.

"Get her out of here!" Chakotay snarled. "Get her off the bridge! Now!"

Ayala looked into Chakotay's eyes. "Chakotay, she has the right to be  
here as a member of this crew, Seska has a right to voice her opinion just  
as much as anyone else here. We all saw Paris go to pieces here today. We're  
the ones who have to put our lives in his hands, and there is no guarantee  
that he won't get 'ill' again." He lowered his voice so that only Chakotay  
could hear. "You're not making things any better by letting her bait you  
like this."

Taking a deep breath, Chakotay let it out, slowly. He could see the sense in  
Ayala's argument, everyone on his crew had always been entitled to express  
an opinion, whether it was popular or not. The crew was a team, with  
Chakotay as the definite leader, but his leadership was, and had always  
been, based on input from each crewmember. He stepped back, and Torres and  
Ayala both visibly relaxed.

"All right, I have heard what you all have to say." Chakotay spoke softly,  
looking at each one of them as he went on.  
"We still have to get through the badlands, and at the moment, Paris is the  
best chance we have of doing that. We will stand over here for eighteen  
hours. In that time, you will each assist with repairs and anything else  
that needs to be done." He gave Seska one last look. "You have your orders."

With one or two muttered comments the bridge crew broke ranks and set about  
the tasks he had given them.

Chakotay glanced at Ayala for a moment, meeting the dark concern in his  
first officer's eyes. "Greg, take the bridge," he said before he turned and  
headed back towards Tom's quarters.

Walking along the hallway to the cabin that Tom had been assigned, Chakotay  
asked himself if Seska may be right?  
Was he thinking with his cock instead of his brain? He sighed, shaking his  
head. _Even if I am, there is not much I can do about it now._ he told  
himself. _That man has got under my skin. There's no denying that._ He  
paused outside Tom's door and pressed the door chimes.

Tom's voice called for him to come in, and Chakotay stepped into the room as  
the door slid back to admit him. He strode into the sleeping apartment and  
stopped dead in his tracks at the sight that met his eyes.

Tom's clothes were strewn across the bed, and a duffle bag lay open on one  
side of the room. Tom came out of the bathroom, carrying his shaving gear  
and hairbrush. He glanced at Chakotay but didn't speak. Walking over to the  
duffle he dumped the handful of things he carried into it, then he turned  
and started folding a shirt, ready to put it in the bag as well.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Chakotay demanded as he looked  
around the room.

"I'm packing. What do you think?" Tom's voice was a cross between a sneer  
and a sigh.

"Oh. I see." Chakotay Scowled and moved to lean against the wall, watching  
the determined expression on Tom's lean face. "So you're going to solve this  
problem the same way you solve every other one by denying that it happened  
and running away?"

"I'm better off out of here, Chakotay, don't try to stop me."

"Stop you? Do you think I would even try? You're mistaken Paris!" Chakotay  
growled and walked out to the living room. Stopping by the replicator, he  
keyed in an override code and ordered a bottle of whisky. Snatching a glass  
out of the cabinet he took it and the bottle back to the bedroom. "Here!" he  
snarled. "Drink! You might want some Dutch courage to get you along your  
way!" Striding to the medicine cabinet, Chakotay took out a hypo. I'll get  
you some morphine as well then you can go the hell back to the stinking  
cesspit I dragged you out of and stay there!"

Tom was silent; he stared at the whisky bottle in his hand, then at the Hypo  
that Chakotay held out to him. His jaw worked convulsively as he seemed to  
search for words. "I..." he began, then trailed off into silence. "Your crew  
didn't want me here before today, Captain, and they won't want me any better  
now," he said at length. "I am not running away."

"Bullshit! You know that is bullshit, Paris! Why can't you grow a backbone?"  
Chakotay stepped forward and snatched the bottle from Tom's hand, taking the  
top off and pouring a generous measure into the glass. Go on! DRINK!"

"Get fucked!" Tom hurled the contents of the glass in Chakotay's face, and  
dashed the bottle out of the captain's hand onto the floor, where it  
shattered into slivers before he turned away and flung the empty glass at  
the recycler. For a moment, the air was still, but for the sound of the  
glass smashing into pieces in the metal recycling tray.

Chakotay stumbled backwards a pace, gasping and shaking his head as he wiped  
at his face with the sleeve of his tunic. "You little shit!" he growled once  
he had recovered himself a little. He lunged at Tom and pushed him onto the  
bed. "I'm not letting you leave this ship, Paris! You can just bloody well  
get used to the idea!"

He landed on top of Tom, pinning him with his body weight as he rubbed at  
his eyes. The whisky burned like fire and his eyes watered profusely. "You're  
mine, Paris he growled, something dark in him rising up as he felt the  
pilot struggling underneath him. "I won't let you leave!"

"Get off me you bastard!" Tom struggled harder, attempting to throw the  
heavier man off his back. "Let me up!" He grunted and lashed out with his  
hands, reaching behind him to rake his nails across Chakotay's cheeks, "Let  
me up!"

Cursing, Chakotay reared back, feeling the sting of scratches as the  
residual whisky got into the cuts. "Damn you!" he flipped Tom onto his back  
and caught the still flailing hands in his own, driving them down to the  
bed, above Tom's head. You're going to be sorry for that!"

Tom growled with frustration and spat in Chakotay's face, struggling with  
renewed vigour as terror gripped him and he realized what Chakotay  
was planning to do. "No!" he cried, bucking in an attempt to throw Chakotay  
off. "No!"

"Shut up!" Chakotay slapped Tom hard, taking both the pilot's hands in one  
of his while he used the free hand to tear at Tom's pants, ripping the  
fabric and baring Tom's body to his touch.

In the long minutes that followed, Chakotay was lost in a nightmare of rage  
and passion. He forced himself on the younger man, ignoring the cries of  
pain and fear. Driven by a dark spirit that, usually he was careful to keep  
down and hidden far away inside himself, the Maquis Captain took from Tom's  
body, with no thought to Tom's feelings or desires.

Finally, spent, his rage exhausted, Chakotay stared down at Tom and cried  
out in horror at the glazed look of shock in the pilot's eyes. "Oh, Spirits.  
What have I done?" He reeled away, off the bed and collapsed to the floor. "

I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Get out," Tom murmured in reply. "Just go." He sat up, gathering his torn clothing  
around himself and when Chakotay reached for him he shrank back. "I said, get out! GO!"


	22. Regrets and Promises

Tom could hear, as though from a great distance, someone  
saying, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," over and over.  
He could hear the pain and remorse in the voice, but somehow he couldn't  
bring himself to respond. The voice frightened him.  
He dragged himself to the top of the bed and curled into a small, defensive  
ball. His insides seemed to be on fire, but when  
he tried to work out why, his mind shied away from the answer. His legs were  
wet; he wondered how he had managed to get  
water on them.

Then, he remembered.

There was a storm that's right, a storm, and his dad had locked him in the  
storage shed. He had been so frightened so  
frightened, and there was no bathroom in the shed, he had tried to hold on,  
really tried, but the storm raged forever and when there  
was a huge crash of thunder, accompanied by lightning, Tommy had lost  
control.

_You're soaked and you stink!_

I'm sorry, Dad. I'm sorry, please, Dad. Don't send me home, I promise I'll try  
harder."

Chakotay jerked at the sound of Tom's voice, leaping as though he'd been  
burned. Raising his head, he looked towards where Tom lay.  
The pilot was jammed against the headboard of the bed, his back pressed  
against the padded surface as though for protection. His face  
was wet with tears and his legs were covered with blood. Chakotay groaned  
with distress looking at him. A wave of sick remorse  
swept through him and he struggled to his knees on the floor. Tom needed  
medical attention quickly.

"Tom?" Chakotay edged his way around the bed, moving like a supplicant, on  
his knees to the head of the bed.  
He reached out to touch the pilot, and withdrew his hand with a sharp intake  
of breath as Tom cried out with fear  
and recoiled across the bed, almost falling to the floor in his attempt to  
escape.

"Tom. Please, let me help you. I'm sorry." Chakotay reached his hand out, but  
didn't try to approach the younger man again. "Please."

Tom's blue eyes were wild with terror. He stared at Chakotay, and huddled  
into himself, hugging his arms close against  
his chest. "Please." he whimpered. "Don't hurt me. I'm sorry. I won't try to  
leave. I... I'll stay. don't hurt me again, please.  
Please." He began to cry, eyes closed as he trembled violently. "I'll have  
the drink. I'll do anything. Please. I'm sorry I made  
you mad. I'm so sorry."

"Tom, you're bleeding. I need to help you. I want to." Chakotay trailed off  
as Tom continued to babble about how  
sorry he was, and how he would try to do better. "Oh spirits. Tom, you have  
nothing to be sorry for. This is not your fault. Just let me help you."

When Tom didn't move, Chakotay bowed his head in defeat, letting his  
shoulders slump. He couldn't blame Tom for  
not wanting him to get any closer. He had just raped the man, what was he  
expected to do? Crawl to Chakotay's feet  
and let him do whatever else he wanted? Chakotay swallowed the lump of sour  
bile in the back of his throat and looked at  
Tom. "Shall I call Mike?" he asked. "You need treatment, Tom. You're  
bleeding. You're hurt."

"NO!" Tom shook his head violently. "I don't want him to see me. Not like  
this! Just give me the medikit. I can do it."

"Tom, you can't do it yourself. You need to be healed properly. Please. I  
promise I won't hurt you again, just let me help you."  
Chakotay said. Standing up, he made his way to the medical cabinet and  
fetched a medikit.

When Chakotay returned to the bed, Tom was lying on his belly, his bruised  
and torn behind presented for Chakotay's access.  
His eyes were still closed, and tears ran from his eyes, but he  
made no sound, just lay, tense and still while Chakotay  
worked with a regenerator and tricorder to repair the damage he had done.

When the healing was as complete as he could make it, Chakotay gently put a  
hand on the small of Tom's back. "I think  
you should rest, Tom," he murmured, removing his hand quickly, when Tom  
flinched away from his touch. Tom's blue eyes flew open  
to stare at him in silent fear. Looking into those eyes, Chakotay saw the  
naked, tortured soul shining from them. In that moment, the Maquis  
Captain hated himself.

"Gods, Tom, I'm sorry," he said.

"It happens," Tom said, and to Chakotay's amazement, the pilot sat up on the  
bed, wincing a little, but sitting straight as he looked  
into Chakotay's eyes. "So, my Captain. What else can I do to make you happy?"  
He reached out with one hand to hesitantly stroke  
Chakotay's cheek. "I'm sorry for hurting you," he murmured. "I don't usually  
scratch my partners." Tom's lips curved into a seductive  
smile. "Let me heal that for you, and then I will show you a good time,  
huh?"

Chakotay felt every drop of blood drain from his face into his feet. His  
mouth dropped open in horrified amazement. He couldn't  
believe what he had heard. That Tom could slip so quickly into the seductive  
facade he had worn that morning stunned the Native  
American. He staggered to his feet. "No, Tom!"   
Chakotay Shook his head as a sick feeling washed over him, making his  
breath catch in his throat. Chakotay turned and fled from Tom's quarters. He  
ran all the way to his own, where he frantically locked  
his door, before scrambling madly for his medicine bundle. "Oh spirits," he  
prayed as he feverishly un-wrapped the sacred relics.   
"What have I done? What have I done to him? Help me. Guide me!"


	23. Spirit Quest

Chakotay walked through dense forest, searching for the illusive silver  
shadow that always seemed to be just a few steps ahead of him. He had  
glimpsed her several times, streaking away from him through the forest,  
until they had come here, to this dark, heavy woodland where every step was  
a struggle, as branches caught on his skin and in his hair, cutting into his  
flesh, whipping painfully across his legs, arms and face.

He growled softly, frustration mounting as he once more caught sight of her  
fleeing form. She looked back at him; her silver eyes meeting his own as she  
paused a moment, then ran onwards.

Chakotay had been pursuing her for what seemed like hours. He was tiring.  
Soon, he knew, he would not have strength to continue. He sobbed lightly,  
willing the wolf to stop, to wait for him. He stumbled onwards, feeling the  
pain of so many scratches and weals feeling it all blur into one huge aching  
agony as he dropped to his knees and bowed his head in defeat.

Then, he heard her voice. Only when he was at the end of his strength, she  
spoke. Chakotay raised his eyes at the sound of her voice and found her  
sitting in front of him. They were suddenly in a clearing, the dense  
darkness of the forest pressing in on every side, yet here, in this place  
was a pure light that brought the guide and everything else into sharp  
focus. He stared at her.

“Why did you flee from me?”

“I did not flee. Your fear drove us both to this place.”

He pondered over that. He remembered his fear. The smell of it was still in  
his skin, in his nostrils, cloying. He nodded. “I fled, and you ran with  
me.”

“It is so,” she replied. “Now you see truth. Why did you flee from this  
fear? It is not your way.”

“I don’t know,” Chakotay bowed his head and closed his eyes. He sighed. “He  
frightens me.”

“He...the golden one. He is only a man, how does a man frighten you so?”  
The wolf studied him, her silver eyes glinting with concern. She  
dropped to her belly and looked up into his face. “Fear of man was never  
your weakness.”

Chakotay shook his head. “I don’t understand him,” he muttered. “He  
changes - in moments, like - like clouds that are driven by the wind,  
skudding across the face of the sun light and shadow, joy and pain. It is  
frightening.”

Dropping her head onto her paws, the wolf heaved a deep sigh. “You do not  
see clearly concerning him.” She lifted her head, staring right into his  
eyes. “The eyes of love see only through a mist, they see only the surface.  
You look, but you do not see.”

“What?” Chakotay stared at her in silence for a moment. “I...don’t  
understand, what do you mean?”

“You must search. You must test your own heart in this. Others see more  
clearly than you.” The wolf got to her feet.

“Don’t go!” Chakotay scrambled to his feet also.

“I can help you no further,” she replied. “You must search.” She turned and  
trotted away into the forest, not glancing back as she slowly faded from his  
sight.

Chakotay sat down, cross legged, realizing his spirit walk was over for now,  
he slowly allowed himself to surface, back into his life, away from the  
spirit realm.

He sat on the floor in his cabin for a long time, pondering over the guide’s  
words. _‘The eyes of love’? Is that why he frightens me so much...because I  
am in love with him?_

Eventually, hunger drove him to his feet. He showered and dressed, and then  
he ordered himself a light meal of soup with corn bread. He thought as he  
ate, recalling the confrontation with his crew over Tom Paris. _Others see_  
more clearly than you. Chakotay frowned. Had he allowed his feelings for  
Paris to cloud his judgement?

With a sigh, the Maquis captain got to his feet, moving to gather up the  
precious relics of his medicine bundle and carefully wrap them before  
stowing them back on the shelf where they were always kept. He put his bowl  
and spoon into the recycler; then he walked out of his cabin. He felt the  
need to check in on Tom before he went back to the bridge.

 

“Tom?” Chakotay called as he stepped into the pilot’s cabin, alarmed to find  
the door was not sealed and slid open easily at his approach. He was  
surprised that the Pilot had not bothered to lock it and a small ripple of  
unease ran through him as he thought of what may have happened if any of the  
crew had decided to take matters into their own hands and deal with Paris  
themselves. “Tom, are you here?”

A slight movement from the bedroom caught Chakotay’s attention and he walked  
to the bedroom door.

Tom was sitting on the rumpled bed, leaning against the wall at the head of  
it, staring out of the view port at space.

“Tom?” Chakotay leaned on the doorpost, watching the Pilot who didn’t even  
show by a flicker that he had heard Chakotay’s voice. Chakotay licked his  
lips. “I... I guess there is nothing I can say, Tom, that will make  
this any better.” He trailed off, unnerved by the continued silence from the  
Pilot.

“The storms seem to have eased some,” Tom offered.

Chakotay frowned and shook his head. “Tom, if you want to leave, once we’re  
through the badlands, I ...I won’t prevent you from going. I will let you  
go.”

Tom turned his head slowly, his blue eyes coming to meet Chakotay’s his  
expression cold and hard as he stared into the Captain’s eyes. “What do you  
mean _you_ will let me go? What the fuck is there left for me to give you?  
You’ve had everything I've got.” His voice dropped to an almost inaudible  
mutter, “whether I wanted to give it or not.”

“Tom!”

Chakotay took a step forward but stopped when the pilot flinched and drew  
his knees up to his chest in a defensive motion as he spat, “Now you  
graciously decide I can go _if I want to?_ How fucking noble of you!”

Chakotay closed his eyes, shoulders drooping in defeat. He turned away and  
walked into the living area. He didn’t know what else to do.

Tom followed him. “You will let me go... sure now that you’ve got what you  
wanted, now that you’ve fucked me, After I pilot your ship to get you  
through the badlands...once I have served my purpose I can go!”

Chakotay turned to face the man, studying him in silence, noting the naked  
fury in Tom’s eyes. “Isn’t that what you wanted? You were packing to leave  
when I came in here before. I thought you _wanted_ to leave? Spirits...you’re  
insane! I don’t know what to make of you!”

“Insane am I? You don't know what fucking insane is, Captain. You don't lie  
in your bed at night, afraid to close your eyes. You don't live with the  
fact that you're everyone’s whore; a nothing a nobody. Fucking insane comes  
with the life I have.” Tom advanced on him, until they were face-to-face,  
and yelled. “You don’t know what to make of me? You fucking knew well enough  
what you wanted less than eight hours ago!”

Chakotay narrowed his eyes, glaring into the sparkling blue ones as he  
ground out. “Shut up, Paris...here’s what I’ll do. I’m ordering you to get  
the hell off my ship as soon as we get out of the badlands. I will give you  
an hour after we dock to haul your ass out of my sight…got it?”

“An hour? I don't need an hour just open the door when we dock and I'll be  
out of your road.” Tom ended on a small sob.

Chakotay felt something twist inside of him. He took a half step back,  
putting distance between himself and the pilot, deliberately hardening his  
heart to the pain that was evident in Tom’s posture as he replied. “Fine. I’ll  
have Ayala come down and escort you off the ship, there are some people  
around here who might want to give you a send off.”

Tom looked into the Captain’s eyes. “Why bother?” he demanded bitterly. “I'm  
sure I will survive.”

“Regardless,” Chakotay said, “you will be escorted off the ship. No one is  
going to get a chance to hurt you, Tom. Not on my watch.” The captain turned  
on his heel and headed for the door. “Don’t worry about the money I gave  
you. And... I will pilot the ship myself. You’ll have ample time to get  
packed.”

Stepping through the door, Chakotay ignored Tom’s muttered. “Oh sure... You  
just want to make sure I really leave... bastard.”


	24. Conspiracy

Tom walked out of his quarters well before Michael Ayala came to collect him.  
He wanted to do this alone, partly to prove he was not afraid of the Maquis  
crewmembers, and partly because he didn’t want to let Chakotay think that he  
could push him around.

Chakotay had dealt the deck, the cards stacked decidedly in the Captain’s  
favour, but Tom was damned if he was going to skulk off the ship like a  
whipped puppy. He still had some pride left and he wasn’t going to waste it  
by hiding behind the Captain and his first officer.

He walked briskly along the hallway, shouldering his duffle bag as he went.  
It was not the first time he’d been tossed aside like a used rag, he told  
himself, and it wouldn’t be the last. _Only, why the hell does it hurt more_  
this time than ever before? Tom shrugged, hefting the bag higher on his  
shoulder. _I was an idiot to think he would be any different._

Raising his chin defiantly, the pilot headed towards a turbo lift that would  
take him to the transporter room, where he intended to wait until the ship  
was docked, wherever the hell they were going, and beam off immediately.

Suddenly, Tom froze in his tracks, staring at a man who approached him from  
the opposite direction. He narrowed his eyes, staring at the man, a dark  
skinned, youthful looking Vulcan.

Meeting his eyes, the Vulcan raised an eyebrow; Tom set his teeth into his  
lower lip, his mind racing to give a name to this familiar face.

“Is there something I can assist you with?” The Vulcan had paused in front  
of Tom and studied him impassively.

“No.” Tom shook his head and walked on but had only gone a few paces when  
the name flashed into his mind, along with where he had seen the man before.  
He stopped, looked back over his shoulder. “Tuvok.”

Tom was dead certain that this Vulcan male was the same one who had come  
with Admiral Paris to arrest him when he decided to come clean over Caldik  
Prime.

Pausing, the Vulcan looked back at him. “That is my name,” he said evenly.  
“Can I assist you?”

 _What the hell is he doing here?_ Tom stared; eyes narrowed at the man and  
then took a step towards him. “I know you…” he began but in the next instant  
he was instinctively ducking for cover as the Maquis vessel shuddered under  
a sudden barrage of phaser fire and red alert klaxons blared through the  
hallway.

“Red alert!” Chakotay’s voice crackled through the coms system. “All hands  
to battle stations!”

 _Battle stations?_ Tom thought. _What the hell is my station anymore?_

He looked for Tuvok, but the Vulcan had already hurried away down the  
hallway towards a turbo-lift. “Shit.” Tom swore, looking along the hallway  
in both directions. “What is a Federation Security officer doing on a Maquis  
ship?” He watched as Tuvok stepped into the lift and the doors closed behind  
him. “Vulcans don’t just turn their backs on the Federation…something’s not  
right here.”

Tom reached for his com badge as he thought aloud. Tapping it, he spoke  
hastily, “Paris to Chakotay…” And that was when blackness hit him, suddenly  
and with force, from behind.

* * *

Chakotay clung to his seat, gritting his teeth in rage and pain, as another  
volley of torpedoes was unleashed at his ship.

“Shields at 64% and failing, captain.” Ayala spoke tensely from his station  
behind the Captain’s chair. “We’re not going to be able to hold them off  
much longer…we _have_ to go back into the badlands, it’s the only chance we  
have, Chakotay!”

“NO! I won’t run from them like a scared dog! We still have some fight left!  
Arm the torpedoes and prepare to fire on my mark!”

“Chakotay! Don’t be a fool!” B’Elanna’s voice broke in. “This ship has not  
got the firepower to match a sovereign class! We’ll be blasted to Qo’nos!”  
She was in front of him suddenly, her dark eyes boring into his own. “You’re  
the one who told me to choose my battles! This is suicide.”

“They’re hailing us, sir.” Dalby said. “They demand that we lower our  
shields and prepare to be boarded.”

Chakotay looked sharply in Dalby’s direction. “Tell them to go to hell.”

“Chakotay…” B’Elanna shook him, gripping his shoulders. “We have to get out  
of here. This is not the time.” She stared into his eyes, willing him to  
listen. “We can outrun them if we head back into the badlands. Listen to  
me!”

Chakotay swallowed hard, flinching as another blast hit the ship and sparks  
flew from Ayala’s console, knocking Mike to the floor. “Gerron…” he began  
but was interrupted by his com badge chirping.

“Paris to Chakotay…” The coms crackled and went silent.

At his station, Dalby tapped some controls and shook his head. “Sorry, sir.  
Internal coms were knocked offline.”

With a slight shake of his head, Chakotay turned his attention to Gerron.  
Whatever it was Paris wanted would have to wait. “Gerron take us back into  
the badlands, he ordered. His mind raced, wondering how the Federation had  
known where to lie in ambush for them. They had been taken completely by  
surprise when the Sovereign class Enterprise E had opened fire on them as  
they emerged from the Plasma storm ridden stretch of space, leaving the  
safety of the electro magnetic activity which had shielded their warp  
signature.

Swinging around under the very nose of the larger and less manoeuvrable  
Enterprise, the Liberty dove for cover back inside the turbulent stretch  
of space known as the badlands. Once inside, they were effectively hidden  
from the sensors of other vessels, and Chakotay knew that the Captain of the  
larger vessel would be unlikely to order his ship to give chase.

“Gerron, bring us to all stop.” Chakotay turned to B’Elanna, “How long until  
we will have full power restored?

“I don’t know…it could be hours, or it could be days. Chakotay…” The half  
Klingon Engineer moved to face her captain as he got out of his seat. “This  
ship is not going to take much more of this kind of treatment. We have to  
try and find some other vessel!”

“I know that.” Chakotay nodded and brushed past the Engineer on his way to  
the turbo-lift. “Just do what you can…I am going to take a look at the  
damage on other decks.”

As he entered the lift, it occurred to Chakotay that he should explain to  
Tom Paris that there would be a delay in his departure from the ship. He  
drew a deep breath, not looking forward to confronting the Pilot again.  
“Computer, locate Tom Paris.”

“Tom Paris is not aboard.”

“What?” Chakotay looked up sharply towards the speaker the computer’s voice  
issued from, as though by looking at it, he could understand more clearly.  
He frowned, reaching for his combadge. “Chakotay to Paris…Paris…respond…”

“Tom Paris is not aboard,” the computer reiterated.

“B’Elanna…” Chakotay changed his com signal. “Are there any problems with  
internal sensors?”

“None that I am aware of,” B’Elanna’s crisp, hurried tones replied.  
“Problem?”

“The computer reports that Paris is not aboard the ship. Can you get someone  
to look into that?”

“Acknowledged…I’ll ask Ayala to see what he can find. Torres out.”

With a slight nod of his head, Chakotay stepped out of the lift and began to  
inspect the damage, asking crewmembers for reports on progress. He pondered  
over Tom’s seeming disappearance as he worked, but it was kept to the back  
of his mind as more pressing details claimed his attention.  
About an hour later, he received a com from Ayala. “Chakotay, I have  
some information for you.” There was a pause. “I think we should meet in  
your quarters.”

“Fine, Mike, I’ll be there in ten minutes,” he replied.

Michael Ayala was pacing outside Chakotay’s Quarters, pad in hand and his  
expression grim as Chakotay arrived to meet with him.

“What have you got?” Chakotay reached for the padd as they walked into his  
living room.

“You’re not going to like this.” Ayala handed the padd over and stood,  
stiffly while his captain read it.

“You’re sure of this?” Chakotay looked into the dark eyes of his first  
officer.

“There is no doubt.” Mike shifted his weight. “I triple checked this  
information. The communiqué came from Paris’ quarters, and during the  
fighting, an escape pod was launched. The logs confirm that Tom Paris was  
aboard…. I’m…sorry, Chakotay.”

Nodding, Chakotay dropped the padd onto a table and moved towards the view  
port. “Thanks.” He clasped his hands behind his back and stared out into the  
swirling turbulence of the badlands. Frowning slightly as he heard Mike  
quietly leave.

 _He sold us out…_ Chakotay clenched his jaws, and closed his eyes for a  
moment. The padd recorded the communiqué originating from a console in the  
pilot’s quarters. It had betrayed their coordinates and heading and was sent  
to ‘any federation vessel within the area.’

By a stroke of luck it would seem, The Enterprise was right where it needed  
to be.


	25. The reluctant hero

Seska sat at the small console in her private quarters aboard the Liberty  
staring into the monitor at the brief text message she had received.

“You were supposed to hand them over to us before Chakotay acquired a new  
ship. They were vulnerable. Now they will prove a more difficult prize. You  
have failed.”

Shaking her head, Seska bit her bottom lip. She had intended to hand the  
Liberty over to her contact long before Chakotay had managed to replace  
the aging vessel. _But that damned Pilot had to interfere. He came between_  
us and ruined my plans. Gritting her teeth, Seska reached for the console  
and began to type.

“An unavoidable delay was encountered. I have removed the person who caused  
it. Guarantee that Chakotay will be unharmed and I will deliver the rest of  
the crew…and this ship into your hands. I will not fail a second time.”

Encrypting the message, Seska hid it carefully in a data packet addressed to  
her non-existent family on Bajor before sending it on its way. She stood up,  
stretching and moved towards the replicator.

“Tom Paris was a headache I could have done without,” she muttered to  
herself. “And now I have that damned nosy Vulcan to contend with. If he  
doesn’t start keeping his nose out of my business I will have to deal with  
him as well.” She sighed and keyed in an order for Raktajino. “I will be  
glad when this whole mess is over.”

* * *

Tom Paris lay on his bed in the sumptuous guest quarters aboard the  
Enterprise E. He’d been sent there after doctor Crusher released him from  
the sickbay.

Hailed as some kind of hero ever since his arrival on board, Tom felt sick  
at heart, wondering if Chakotay really would believe he had sold the Maquis  
out to the Federation. He closed his eyes, remembering when he had woken in  
the sickbay.

His head was throbbing and the damn lights didn’t help any. He groaned and  
moved his head slightly thinking for a moment that he had somehow gone back  
in time and was going relive the whole sorry fiasco of his life from the  
time he was bashed after Caldik Prime right up to the Maquis ship.

“He’s coming around.” A feminine voice spoke softly somewhere off to his  
left.

Tom forced his eyes open and looked around at the faces of people standing  
around him. One face in particular was familiar to him and Tom frowned.  
“Jean Luc, what the fuck are you doing aboard a Maquis ship? Or … wait…no I  
died…right? And this whole friggin month has been my personalized version of  
hell.” _Makes sense if you think about it…I mean in hell every person you’ve_  
ever screwed over in your life comes back to torment you, don’t they? But,  
if this is hell…where are Charlie, Sam and Caro?

Tom moved his head slowly, focussing his eyes on the face of the beautiful  
auburn haired woman who leaned over him. “I am sure I never did a number on  
_you,_ ” he mumbled. “I woulda remembered a face like yours.”

“I’m doctor Beverly Crusher. You’re in sickbay aboard the USS Enterprise.”  
The woman replied gently.

“What!?” Tom sat up so suddenly that his head almost exploded with pain.  
“Shit!”

There was a slight movement as two security guards stepped forward but were  
stopped by an imperious wave of Picard’s hand, as Bev Crusher laid a gently  
restraining hand on Tom’s shoulder.

Picard spoke then, his voice, tensioned silk, soft and even, the timbre and  
cadence the same as Tom remembered from the countless visits of this man to  
his home when he, Tom was growing up.

“We’ve been tracking the Liberty for months,” he said softly. “It was  
only your message that gave us any clue to her whereabouts. It’s fortunate  
we were here to pick you up. By all accounts, the renegade Chakotay is not  
known for his leniency towards anyone he considers a traitor.”

Tom shook his head, running his hands through his hair. _Message? Traitor?_  
What the *fuck* is he talking about? He looked at Picard. “What? Wait a  
minute…what message?”

“Jean Luc,” Doctor Crusher broke in. “I think it would be best to continue  
this after Mr Paris has had a chance to rest.” Her tone was firm, obviously  
allowing no argument.

“Very well,” Picard nodded to the Doctor and waved the security detail out  
of the room. “I’ll speak with you after you’ve rested,” he said to Tom. “I  
believe you may be able to shed some light on the movements of Chakotay’s  
cell.

Tom made no reply, merely allowing himself to sink down on the bed as the  
doctor pressed a hypospray to his neck. The soft hissing sound of the  
canister brought almost instant relief to his headache and Tom closed his  
eyes. _Gods, Chakotay must think I am the lowest of the low,_ he thought  
dismally. _I didn’t sell you out, Chakotay…I didn’t…_

Now, two days later, Tom lay on his bed wondering if Chakotay could really  
believe him capable of such a low act.

“Of course he could! Everyone knows my record. Everyone knows how I turned  
my back on my friends at Caldik prime and lied through my teeth to avoid  
trouble…” He sat up, staring out the View port for a moment.

Tom Paris stood up and reached for his combadge. “Paris to Picard,” he said  
grimly. “Captain, I think I am ready to talk now, if you have the time?”

Picard’s voice came back over the coms immediately. “Splendid. I will meet  
you in your quarters in five minutes. Picard out.”

Tom sighed and walked over to the view port. _Not this time,_ he thought  
resolutely. _This time, I am not walking out on my friends._


	26. Maquis Insurgent

Deep Space nine was abuzz with the news of the impending arrival of the Enterprise. Merchants, expecting  
a star ship crew on shore leave added new and appealing items to their displays. Odo expecting the usual  
carousal that went along with those same crews on shore leave had rostered on more security staff,  
although he knew that the Enterprise seldom gave that much trouble, he preferred to err on the side of  
caution, as was his way.

Quark, as usual, had arranged some of the 'more exotic and hard to find' items to be delivered into that  
special niche he reserved under the counter for those who may be interested. For even on a ship the  
calibre of the legendary Enterprise, there were always at least one or two crewmembers with more  
'discerning' tastes.

Walking along the promenade, Doctor Julian Bashir, chief medical officer of Deep Space Nine watched all  
the hubbub with amusement. It never ceased to amaze him how everyone would fly into frenzy for the  
arrival of a ship at the station. For himself, he was looking forward to the visit of the Enterprise and  
a chance to meet with the Android Data. He'd met Commander Data once or twice before and enjoyed his  
company, the Android was one of the few people Julian knew who could converse as deeply - and as long as  
he himself could on an inexhaustible range of topics and never become bored.

Ops had reported a few minutes ago that the Enterprise was in visual range, and Julian was heading for  
the docking ring in order to be there to welcome his friend aboard. By the size of the crowd waiting at  
the lift, he noted, it seemed many others had the same idea.

As he came up to the small crowd he heard Constable Odo's voice. "I am afraid no one will be permitted on  
the docking ring until the matter has been taken care of. I'm sorry, but we cannot take the risk!"

"What's going on?" Julian asked a young, Bajoran lad.

"Oh. The Enterprise is bringing a Prisoner aboard," the boy replied. "A Maquis insurgent."

Julian raised an eyebrow at that. "Maquis?"

"That's what constable Odo says, sir." The boy answered quickly and then moved off, hurried along his way  
by the Constable who was calling on the crowd to disperse. 

Julian shook his head with a good-natured smile and moved along, deciding to go to the replimat for a  
coffee while he waited for clearance to be given to the docking ring.

As he sipped the hot beverage, Julian pondered over the idea of a Maquis having been captured. From what  
he knew of them, Maquis were usually difficult to trace, let alone capture. 

He remembered a situation some months earlier when members of the terrorist group had abducted Gul Dukat.  
He frowned, recalling the apparent suicide of one of the Maquis, captured on DS9 by the Cardassians.

_That was always a rum situation; I still have my doubts about the veracity of the Cardassian's claims  
there._

He allowed his mind to briefly touch on his own capture, along with Captain Sisko and Major Kira when  
they'd been held at a Maquis camp in the demilitarised zone. All in all they'd been well treated, and  
unhurt. _Unless you call being stunned harmful,_ he reflected with a rueful expression.

Finishing his coffee, Julian moved to the reclaimer and placed the cup inside, before walking out onto  
the promenade once more. Idle curiosity caused him to turn his steps in the direction of the lift.  
_Perhaps I can get a glimpse of this Maquis,_ he thought as he made his way along the broad, circular  
walkway.

* * *

Tom Stood quietly at the airlock, flanked on either side by the security detail that would escort him  
onto the station. His expression was carefully neutral, and he kept his eyes straight ahead, not even  
sparing a glance for his surroundings. When the small warning klaxon sounded, followed by the hiss of  
pressurised air, rushing into the airlock, he straightened his posture a little and squared his  
shoulders. He would not be brought onto Deep Space Nine cowering like a whipped dog. Raising his chin, he  
stepped forward when instructed and moved across the small gangway that lead into the station.

There the Security Chief, Constable Odo, met him. He quietly accepted the restraints that were clamped  
onto his wrists. As his escort from the Enterprise left him, Tom was flanked on either side by two of  
the Station's Security staff. With Odo leading the way, the small party walked to the lift and boarded  
it.

He had not been afforded any chance, aboard the Enterprise, to get a message to Chakotay. Though the  
usual offers of contacting his family had been made, Tom knew that would not have included contacting the  
Maquis, and neither would he want to in those circumstances. That would be equivalent to telling Picard  
where the Native American was hiding. He sighed, knowing as the surrounds of the former Cardassian prison  
station closed around him, even any faint glimmer of hope was cut off.

The lift travelled the short distance to the Promenade quickly and Tom was instructed to move on. He  
stepped forward, head up and eyes ahead, then faltered slightly as his eyes met a pair of deep hazel eyes  
that regarded him, first with dawning recognition and then, with downright surprise. He slowed his steps,  
staring into the steady gaze of Julian Bashir.

"Tom!" Julian took a half step towards the blonde man, only to be halted by the Security guards who  
immediately moved between him and the prisoner. "I know him!" he ventured, by way of explanation but made  
no impression on their steadfast refusal to let him near. "Please I just want to."

"You can speak to the prisoner once he is in the holding cells." Odo cut in, standing stiff and formal,  
hands behind his back, his mildly gravely voice uncompromising. "He will be accorded the same privileges  
as any other detainee."

"All right." Julian frowned, attempting to make eye contact with Tom, who had not made a sound in all  
this. He shook his head, bewildered. _What the hell is he doing tied up with the Maquis? He's no_  
colonist! He stepped back and the security detail resumed their positions either side of their silent  
charge. _One thing is certain.I intend to find out!_ Julian told himself as the small party moved off  
along the Promenade.


	27. Bloodlust

"Take them!" Chakotay leaned back in the command chair and glared at the small Federation ship on the  
view screen. His gaze filled with the roiling anger and frustration that had gripped him since the  
Enterprise had ambushed the Liberty. Since Tom Paris had betrayed him and his crew. Since he had lost the  
one person who had added any light to his days. Though he would never have admitted it, Chakotay missed  
Tom Paris more than he had thought possible.

Watching as Ayala opened fire on the target vessel, Chakotay narrowed his eyes. "Target their weapons and  
shields arrays, I want her as undamaged as possible!"

"Aye captain." Ayala kept his eyes on the tactical console, directing his fire in order to do the least  
damage, whilst also knocking out the critical systems of the vessel. He spared a quick glance for the  
captain after his initial volley of phaser fire. 

"They are powering up weapons, sir," he reported before lowering his eyes once more. He was glad that the  
Captain had finally decided to take action rather than brooding in his quarters as he had since the day  
Tom Paris had disappeared off the ship. 

Chakotay had gone into a rage at first, cursing and shouting at anyone who dared to enter his quarters,  
driving them away with threats of physical violence.

When he pulled himself together, it seemed the Captain had decided to take the battered Liberty and her  
crew on a one-ship campaign against any Cardassian or Federation vessel within 5 light years. They had  
wreaked a trail of destruction along the edges of the demilitarised zone, each ship attacked, disabled  
and then dismissed as being unsuitable to their needs.

This one though was different. This was the first ship Chakotay had even shown a glimmer of interest in,  
beyond crippling it. A Saber class, the vessel would be perfect for the small Maquis crew. Requiring a  
compliment of 40 officers and crew, she was equipped with four type ten phaser emitters and two quantum  
torpedo launchers. These she now turned on the Liberty with full force, swinging around to deliver a  
volley of fire that shook the already battered ship to her core.

"Return fire at will," Chakotay snarled. "I want that vessel!"

The fight was vicious, but short. Ayala's expert targeting, combined with Gerron's improving skill at  
evasion bringing the victory to Liberty in short order.

"The federation vessel is hailing us, Captain." The Bolian, Chell reported from ops.

"On screen." Chakotay rose to his feet as the image of an outraged, and _young_ Federation Captain  
flickered onto the screen.

"I am Captain William Hathaway of the USS Ventura! What is the meaning of this unprovoked attack?"

"Captain Chakotay, of the Maquis." Chakotay struggled to hide a smirk, staring up into the wide eyes of  
the Federation captain. "In case you hadn't heard, we're at war. I am commandeering your vessel.  
Captain."

Behind him, Chakotay heard Ayala snicker, and just caught a muttered comment about captains in diapers.  
His own smile broadened as he waited for the young captain to finish spluttering.

"Here are our terms. I think you'll find them very fair." 

"I do not accept your terms.whatever they are, Captain Chakotay. The Federation does not negotiate with  
traitors! I order YOU to lower your shields and surrender to us, I am authorized to arrest."

The gales of laughter that erupted across the bridge of the Liberty cut off any further remarks Captain  
Hathaway might have had.

Waving his bridge crew to silence, Chakotay smiled at the flustered young man on the screen. "You're in  
no position to order soup, much less tell me what I will do." Chakotay stepped closer to the screen. "You  
have two choices, Captain Hathaway. You and your crew can trade places with my crew and I. Or we will  
board your ship ... and the outcome will be bad for all of you."

He turned to Chell, signalling him to close the channel. "We'll give them some time to think on that, he  
said. "If that ship moves, Ayala, take out the propulsion systems."

"Aye sir." Ayala nodded and turned his attention to his console, more relieved than he could say to see  
the captain in control once more. _We can't afford for him to lose it right now,_ he thought. _There  
are some on this ship who're just waiting for a chance to be rid of him._


	28. A Friend in Need

Standing near the active force field of his cell, Tom looked into the solemn face of Constable Odo. He  
shook his head slightly. "I don't want to see him constable...I have the right to choose who I want to  
visit me don't I?"

"You have that right, of course," Odo replied, "but then, if I know anything about Dr Bashir, it will  
make very little difference."

"True." Tom folded his arms across his chest, a clear sign that he was feeling defensive and sighed  
softly. "Might as well get it over with then I suppose and maybe then I will get some privacy." 

"It seems, Constable Odo, you know more about me than I thought." Julian stepped up behind the  
constable, having just caught Odo's words as he came into the room. He looked at Tom. "Hello, Tom."

Paris fake smile number two slipped into place on Tom's features. "You're looking good Julian," he said  
softly. "Bit of a surprise to see you here...thought you would be in one of the teaching hospitals  
finding remedies for incurable diseases by now.

Julian bowed his head for a moment. _He doesn't even remember..._ "I told you I was transferring to  
this station...I feel my place is here. I can study Alien Physiology more readily."

"Oh yeah I forgot... The Federation has you in their pocket. Pity you haven't come up with a way to  
wipe out the Cardassians.

With a sigh, Julian decided to let that remark pass, he knew Tom was deliberately trying to bait him,  
and he didn't intend to get into a smoke screen argument. "Actually, I am surprised to see _you_ here.  
He waved a hand to indicate the holding cell. "What's going on with you, Tom?"

"Oh you know me, Julian. Never a dull moment in my life... the Paris bad boy got set up, but then I  
doubt you are going to believe that."

Julian shook his head. "How does one get 'set up' to join the Maquis?"

"The Maquis did not set me up the Federation did, Julian. You have no idea the kind of people you  
really work for."

"You still insist on blaming the Federation for all your problems? I thought you'd have gotten over  
that by now!" He moved to a chair. "Mind if I sit?"

"Do I have a choice?" Tom noticed a furtive movement of Julian's hand, and it didn't take a mental  
giant to know that the doctor held a small medical scanner concealed in his palm. Tom had trained in  
field medicine and was well acquainted with those old Doctors' tricks. "I'm clean Julian so you can  
stop scanning me." He sank down on his bunk, casting Julian a withering, and mildly defensive glance as  
the doctor eased his slight frame into the chair.

"Look, I didn't come here to fight with you, Tom...Frankly I'm not sure _why_ I bothered...but you look  
like you could use a friend."

"I could use a drink." Tom was on his feet again, the restlessness that simmered just under the surface  
showing in his edgy manner and the agitated shuffling of his feet. "Tea or coffee, Jules?"

"Whatever you're having is fine." Julian watched the young blonde carefully. _He may be clean, but  
it's not that long since he went cold turkey by the looks of him._

"I can't offer you anything stronger... A Maquis captain went through a lot to wean me of my liking for  
Scotch." Tom looked at the guard. "You going to get us a couple of mugs of tea or do Federation  
prisoners die of dehydration here?"

Julian sent the guard an apologetic look. "Forgive my friend's...bluntness. I'll pay for anything he  
requests."

As the guard left, Tom moved to stand in front of the Doctor. "Julian I need a favour."

"Oh? What kind of 'favour'?"

"I was serving on a Maquis raider called Liberty could you find out what happened to it?"

Julian laughed. "You have a high opinion of me. How am I supposed to find out anything about a Maquis  
ship?"

"Come off it, Julian! You are a very resourceful man I'm sure you could wangle..." Tom broke off, aware  
that the time til the guard returned from the replicator was short, and he had to get vital information  
out before he got back. "It's captained by an ex Federation officer named Chakotay."

With a sigh, Julian shrugged his shoulders. "I can't go outside my clearance, Tom... I don't know the  
first thing about how to..." He stopped, looking up sharply at the captain's name. "Chakotay? Now THAT  
name, I have heard. No one needs high access to hear about THAT captain. He frowned. "Tom how the hell  
did you wind up involved with..."

"He needed a pilot and I needed a job." Tom hunkered down, lowering his voice. "Listen Julian, you're  
the only hope I've got here, Chakotay is... he took me on despite the fact I was a drunk and hooked on  
morphine."

"Then if you ask me, you're damned lucky you were caught when you were. Chakotay is the Alpha  
Quadrant's most wanted man. He and his crew are on high alert status."

"He gave me a chance Julian. Something not a lot of people do for Tom Paris."

"Some chance. Look where it landed you! If I were you, I'd forget about him...He's bad news."

"Julian, I...I love him...please, Julian, for old times sake I need to know if the ship survived the  
attack by the Enterprise.

"Oh it survived all right." Julian's face and his voice were grim. "Which is more than can be said for  
the unfortunate crews who've met with _Captain_ Chakotay and his crew in the last few days."

"The Maquis are fighting for their homes Julian. They don't kill if they don't have to."

"You know my feelings on this, Tom. I believe in the sanctity of life. Any life. These men are not some  
kind of honourable heroes on a quest. They are cold blooded traitors...Murderers."

"Oh sure, Julian!" Tom's voice was thick with bitterness as he got up and turned away. "You just go on  
believing that, and the other fairy tales the Federation spins to keep you insulated. You just sleep  
there in your Star Fleet cocoon and let the almighty Federation take care of everything!" 

He rounded on his friend, face twisted with anger and pain. "Until they dump YOU or YOUR family on  
their asses and leave you for dead! Go ahead and keep your blind faith, Julian. Believe in the sanctity  
of life, if that makes you feel better, but don't wail to me when you find out just what kind of a  
hypocritical _murderous_ institution YOU serve!"

Julian blinked several times, looking at Tom in bewilderment before he spoke softly. "You know, that  
kind of anger is going to make you old before your time."

Tom sighed, his shoulders drooping and turned to sink down on the bunk, just as the guard returned with  
two steaming mugs of tea.

Taking the mugs from the guard, Julian handed one to Tom.

"You still haven't told me how you came to be here," He said softly. "Want to talk about it?"

"What's to tell?" Tom's voice was muted. He took the mug from Julian with a small nod of thanks,  
sipping the hot liquid before he waved Julian to a chair. "I was in Marseilles, drunk, doped to my  
eyeballs and running out of money when Chakotay happened along."

"So you joined the Maquis. Fighting in a cause that isn't your own. For money?" Julian took a mouthful  
of tea, appreciating its flavour for a moment in silence.

"Yeah. And I would still be with them if it weren't for a Federation spy, named Tuvok." Tom drew a deep  
breath. "It had to be him who knocked me cold and put me aboard that pod. He couldn't afford to have  
someone who knew him around."

"And so, here you are. facing trial as a traitor." Julian finished the tea and set the mug on the  
floor. "You do have a talent for finding trouble, Tom."

With a smirk, Tom nodded his agreement. "My only regret is that Chakotay must think I sold him out. You  
know I'd never do something like that, Julian! Loyalty is one of the few virtues I still possess." He  
groaned and ran a hand through his hair. "But what's it matter. In _his_ eyes, I will be the worst of  
the worst and there's not a damn thing I can do about it."

Julian sighed. "I'm going against my better judgement on this, Tom...I'll make some enquiries. I can't promise anything, but I will at least try," he said.

Tom met his eyes and allowed a small, but genuine smile of gratitude. "Thank you."


	29. Who bears bad tidings

Sitting at his desk in the infirmary Julian scanned the latest news-pad. The story of the liberty's  
destruction was the main headline that day. Julian allowed a small smile to touch his lips as he read  
that the ship had been utterly blown to bits in an engagement with the Akira class USS Hawke.

Presumably all hands were lost, the report stated and the Federation was pleased that at least some of  
the maquis nuisance had been reduced by the incident. A small frown touched his brow as he read the  
last line, but he put the pad aside and rose to his feet. 

"Bashir to Odo," he said as he walked from the infirmary. "I would like to arrange a visit with Tom  
Paris. I have some news for him."

The constable replied that he could see Paris, but to make it quick as a transport was expected shortly  
to transfer the prisoner to Earth.

With a small, self-satisfied smile, Julian headed for the holding cells, schooling his features into a  
solemn, and compassionate expression as he made his way to where Tom was being held.

Tom lay on his back on the bunk, hands folded behind his head as he allowed his thoughts to wander.  
Only a few weeks before, he'd been on Earth, in France, perhaps not the happiest man alive, but at  
least he'd been free. He mused on how things could change so quickly. 

In those same short weeks, he'd travelled to far reaches of the quadrant, fallen in love with a dark  
and enigmatic stranger, and wound up in prison. _If it wasn't so goddamned pathetic, it would be  
funny,_ he mused.

At the sound of the force field deactivating, Tom quickly scrambled to his feet, and moved to stand in  
the centre of the cell, in plain view of the guard. "Has the transport arrived already? That was fast."  
He paused as Julian Bashir walked into the room and the force field went up behind him. "Oh, it's you.  
Come to see me off?" Tom stared at the solemn face of the doctor and suddenly he felt the need to sit  
down. He gulped. "What? What's happened?"

"I'm sorry, Tom." Julian took a few paces and hunkered down in front of Tom, taking both the young  
man's hands in his own. "The news has just come in. The Liberty."

"Oh gods. No."

"I'm sorry. There were no survivors, Tom."

Tom pulled his hands free of Julian's grip. "I don't believe you. I won't, I can't. He's not dead! He  
can't be I only saw him three days ago!"

"Tom. I wouldn't lie to you. If there were any possibility that it was otherwise, I would let  
you know." Julian put a hand on the younger man's shoulder. "Look, I know this is hard for you. I... I'd  
like to come with you. To Earth. Perhaps between your family, and my ties, we can figure something out.  
After all, there is no reason for you to protect anyone now."

Tom gave a small sob, feeling suddenly weak and very tired. Reaching for Julian he buried his face  
against the doctor's neck. "Oh gods, Jules. What am I going to do?" He wept, and Julian held him close,  
smoothing the glistening golden hair with one hand.

"Shhh. Don't worry. I'm here. I'm here and we will work this out. Julian closed his eyes and bit down on  
his lower lip. Somehow, he would make it up to Tom for all the pain he had been through. Julian was  
going to see to it, that Tom forgot all about his past, the Maquis, and especially Captain Chakotay.


	30. The truth hurts

Chakotay paced back and forth in his new quarters aboard the captured Ventura. He cursed steadily in an  
undertone as he moved, occasionally sparing a glance for Ayala who stood with his hands wrapped across  
his chest, leaning against the wall by the cabin door. 

"I told you Chakotay... I told you this time you were wrong! This time your fucking dick had gone too  
far."

"Shut the fuck up, Mike," Chakotay snarled as he continued to pace. "The sooner I get this little  
pissant of a captain off this ship, the happier I will be. How was I to know he set up that damned  
beacon?"

"Come off it, Chakotay, you knew the Liberty was in no shape to make it anywhere on her own but you  
insisted...even if the Captain hadn't let the federation know where we were the chances on her  
surviving were slim to nothing. You sentenced our own people to death ...and for what?"

"We need every ship we can get, you know that! I acted as I saw fit."

"You acted because you are angry and you're angry because a certain little blond fuck has left your  
dick homeless, Captain."

Chakotay turned to fix Ayala with a jaundiced eye. "I won't warn you again, Ayala. Leave Paris out of  
this."

With a look of disgust, Ayala spat on the floor, muttering, "I wouldn't touch that little whore with  
Dalby's."

"Fuck you!" Chakotay growled and lunged at Ayala, backhanding him hard across the face. "I have had a  
gutfull of this crew sticking their faces into my personal life!" 

Caught off guard, Ayala was knocked to the deck where he wiped a hand across his mouth, glancing at the  
bright streak of blood left there before he looked up at the captain. "What's up, Chakotay, does the  
truth hurt?" He moved cautiously to lean his back against the wall. "You have put that pretty bit of  
tail on a pedestal and it cost you half your crew."

Grabbing Ayala by his shirt front, Chakotay hauled the man to his feet, shoving him against the wall  
and pinning him there. "I am still the captain here. Paris is none of your or anyone else's  
business. He's gone, and that's the end of it." He let Ayala go and took a half step back. "Now haul  
your ass to the bridge and find out if we've located a suitable planet for Captain Pissant and his  
crew...what's left of them."

"Yes you're the Captain. Captain, you couldn't recognise a federation whore when he was looking you in  
the face even though your crew could." Noticing the look filled with murder that Chakotay turned on  
him, Ayala decided it would be prudent to back off. He tugged his shrt straight. "I'll go look for that  
planet shall I?"

"Do that...and the next time I see you, you'd better have straightened out your attitude. Unless you're  
planning to 'surrender' to Captain Pissant and let him take home a traitor."

Ayala squared his shoulders and turned to leave. "In that case, you had better surrender your cock,  
Captain...it sold us all out." Ayala flung over his shoulder as he strode into the hallway, the door  
swishing closed behind him.

Chakotay stared at the door in silence for several moments, his fists opening and closing at his sides,  
using every ounce of self control not to go after Ayala and break his neck.

Turning away from the door with a muttered curse, the captain walked to the view port. Gazing out into  
space he took a few deep breaths, cleansing himself from the anger that had taken him over.

He had to admit that some of what Ayala said had struck a nerve with him. _That's why you wanted to  
kill him. You don't like to admit he's right._

Chakotay growled and paced restlessly to the replicator, staring blankly at it as his mind flashed  
through a catalogue of the faces of crew lost when the Liberty was destroyed.

_Damn my stubbornness. It's not like me to ignore Mike's advice.and this time, this time it has cost  
me too much. Damn Paris, I wish I had left him in that stinking hellhole!_

Passing a hand over his face, Chakotay recalled a story his mother used to tell him about a village  
that had run into great bad luck after taking a man in who was fleeing from the Spirits.

"The elders decided they would send the one the Spirits had touched away, and from that moment, the  
luck of that village changed." His mother had smiled. "Sometimes, it is best to leave those whom the  
Spirits have singled out, to their own devices. It saves much heartache."

"I wish I had remembered that wisdom before I got into this sorry mess," Chakotay muttered. "And before  
he touched my soul."


	31. Broken Night

Half asleep, Tom stumbled to his feet as the force field was deactivated.  
Blinking, he tried to make out the time on the chrono on the wall opposite  
his cell. "Oh-two-hundred," he mumbled. "That's a weird time for a transport to arrive  
isn't it?"

Silence was the only reply that met him and Tom blinked again, rubbing his  
eyes, trying to make out who was in his cell. "Lights," he commanded the  
computer, but there was no response. "Ah shit." Tom had seen this scenario  
before, and he muttered to himself, half crouching and waiting for the  
inevitable attack.

When it came, it was hard, and furious there had to be more than one, Tom  
thought, and this was confirmed when his arms were grabbed and dragged  
behind his back, pinioned so that he was left helpless. He shook his still  
sleep-clouded head, trying to see the other attacker but couldn't make out  
much in the darkness.

A fist struck him hard in the abdomen, and Tom retched with pain, doubling  
over but held from falling, by the one who pinned his arms. Before he could  
recover he took a hard kick to his gut. With an agonised cry, he struggled  
against the man holding his arms. "Fucking cowards!" he muttered before  
something heavy and solid connected with his face and that was the last he  
knew.

* * *

Julian surveyed the battered and bruised body of the young blonde man in  
silence. He couldn't believe the damage that had been done. Tom had an ugly  
bruise to one side of his face, the eye swollen shut and his lip swollen and  
disfigured by the blow, which had obviously been made with some heavy  
object.

He had two fractured ribs, and it was plain to see the boot marks on his  
chest. These however were the least of his problems. Julian had spent the  
last hour removing, and replacing a ruptured spleen. He was thankful for the  
fact that he had ordered a biogenetic replicator, or Tom would have been  
minus a spleen for life. He sighed, taking up a regenerator and began to  
repair Tom's facial injuries.

As he worked, Julian talked softly to his patient. "Don't worry Tom. I am  
going to make sure you get well and we will find a way through all this. I  
never should have let you leave me. I was a fool to let you get away. But not  
anymore, not now. You're going to get well, you're going to stay with me.  
Together we can do anything."

As the skin regenerated under the gentle, blue light of the tool Julian  
held, he found himself marvelling yet again at the beauty of Tom's  
countenance. The inner radiance was there, even while Tom was unconscious  
and his body was battered as it was now.

_He is so beautiful. I can't lose him again, not now, not ever. I know I_  
_should have told him Chakotay escaped. But I couldn't. I can't. It's going to_  
_make things difficult. Keeping him away from news feeds won't be a problem_  
_until he is released, but then..._

Julian sighed; switching off the regenerator and taking up a tricorder to  
scan the area he was working on. "By then," he murmured, "Hopefully it won't  
matter anymore. Hopefully Tom will have learned to love me again or." He  
closed his mouth, noticing that Tom was beginning to stir. _Or Chakotay  
really  will be dead._


	32. Remand

**Five Days Later  
** **UFP Remand Centre  
** **Earth**

 

Tom marched silently ahead of the security detail as they moved along a  
hallway that seemed endless to him. He absently counted the light fittings  
as they passed under each one. The surroundings were plain, white walls,  
dark grey floors, and no windows. Doors at regular intervals were the only  
break in the otherwise smooth walls, and even they were noticeable only  
because of the locking controls on the outside of each one.

He sighed softly; this remand centre would be his life for now. The  
Federation appointed lawyer that had represented him at his arraignment had  
asked for consideration of bail, but it was turned down in light of the  
'defendant's past record.'

Tom pled not guilty to the charge of high treason against the Federation. He  
had no reason, now to plead guilty. There was no one left to protect. His  
lawyer whilst apologetic over the bail situation, told Tom he was confident  
that he would get off the charges once the court heard of the 'duress' he'd  
been placed under by Chakotay.

Tom halted at a terse command from one of the guards and waited as the guard  
opened the door he stood in front of. He was ushered into a large, open  
bathroom, and another guard stepped forward and handed him a bundle of  
clothing.

"You are to remove your clothes, shower and dress in these fatigues." He was  
told.

Acknowledging the instructions with a nod, Tom took the grey uniform and  
moved towards the showers.

"Hurry it up, Paris. You're to see the prison doctor after you're cleaned  
up."

"Doctor?" Tom was genuinely puzzled. "I don't need a..."

"Procedure. Move it!" The guard snapped.

"Fine." Tom sighed and moved into the shower area, where he had to shower in  
full view of the guards.

A few minutes later, clean and dressed in the fresh prison issue fatigues,  
Tom was marched along yet another interminable hallway and ushered into a  
small, neat, and extremely clean infirmary.

He was directed into a small examination room, the door closed firmly behind  
him, and he moved to a chair set next to a small desk and sat down to wait.  
He breathed a long sigh. This was the first opportunity he'd had to be alone  
in hours, and he allowed his head to fall forward into his hands. Closing  
his eyes against tears that threatened to well from them. _Gods, this is_  
_hopeless. What if I am locked away here for years? I can't stand it. I'd_  
_rather die than be cooped up this way._

At the sound of the door sliding open, he straightened, looking at the  
doctor who came into the room. The woman was young, an intern at best, Tom  
decided, and hardly what he would have expected as a prison doctor. He  
frowned, but kept quiet. He just wanted for this to be over, to have time to  
himself. Time to think, and to grieve the loss of Chakotay.

"Hello, Mr. Paris." The doctor's tone was formal and impartial, but she was  
the first person that day to refer to Tom by anything more than his surname.

Tom nodded slightly, "Doctor."

"Kahlen. Kahlen A'tria."

She turned to look at him and smiled softly, her sea green eyes lighting  
with an inner luminance that almost took Tom's breath away. He noticed as  
well, the ridges on her nose. _Bajoran,_ he thought.

"I am filling in for Doctor Heparr while he is away. I owed him a favour or  
two."

"I...uh...I see." Tom was at a loss for what else to say so he lapsed into  
silence.

Dr. Kahlen picked up a tricorder. "This won't take long, I know you've  
probably travelled a long way and must be tired." As she spoke, she scanned  
him. "Any problems with the transplant?"

"No." Tom shook his head. "It's been fine."

"Good. I'll order light duties for you whilst you're here, we don't want you  
ruining Dr. Bashir's fine handiwork. I am sure he wouldn't be best pleased."

She laid the tricorder aside and looked into Tom's eyes. "I hear you had  
friends on the Liberty. I'm.sorry."

Tom gasped, the pain still raw inside him so that he almost flinched at her  
words. Narrowing his eyes, he nodded mutely then lowered his eyes.  
"Yeah. Thanks."

"I knew some of them," Kahlen added. "One or two of them were from Bajor and  
some others I knew from Star Fleet." Her voice was soft with reflected  
sorrow and Tom swallowed hard.

"Please I...if you don't mind I can't."

"Of course, I understand. Forgive me."

Kahlen moved to the door and pressed a security code into the controls,  
"We're done here," she told the guard. "I suggest a review in three days."

Tom stood to his feet as the guards gestured to him and he walked out of the  
examination room, casting a glance at the doctor as he passed her. She  
nodded, without speaking and then turned to go back into the small room he  
had just left.


	33. Betrayal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well this is the final chapter. Thank you to those readers who have stuck with me this far. It's the end of part one and there is a sequel to follow.

Sitting in Tom's cell in the remand centre, Julian looked around with a  
slight nod of approval. "Well, at least you have a larger area here, than on  
Deep Space Nine," he remarked to Tom who sat next to him on the small bench  
that passed for a sofa. "And you have a door, here rather than a force  
field. A little privacy helps."

"Oh yeah," Tom replied, "It's just fantastic, as long as you discount the  
constant video and audio monitoring.and the fact that I can't *leave.*" Tom  
knew his voice sounded bitter, and he regretted it, but truly, sometimes,  
Julian's good looks were the only thing that he had going, he could be  
completely naïve and downright stupid with some of his remarks.

With a sigh, Julian bowed his head. "Sorry." He mumbled. "I didn't mean to  
make light of all this I..."

"No, I'm sorry." Tom broke in. "That was uncalled for." He paused a moment,  
then said. "You've been very good to me, Jules. I don't know how I could  
have made it this far without you." He reached for the doctor's hand.  
"Thanks."

Julian looked up with a smile. "That's what friends are for," he murmured,  
then leaned in and lightly brushed his lips against Tom's "So, how does one  
make a move on a sexy blonde in a prison centre?"

"That's easy," Tom quipped, "close the door and pay off the guard."

"You're kidding, right?" Julian raised an eyebrow, studying Tom's face,  
trying to work out if the blonde was serious.

"You want my ass, don't you?" Tom winked cheekily, knowing fully well, the  
effect his gentle flirting was having on the doctor.

"You know I do," Julian gulped and cast a glance over his shoulder at the  
door. "But..."

"You're not shy are you, college boy?" Tom used the pet name he had given to  
Julian so long ago, it seemed, when they had been lovers and Julian was  
still at the Academy on Earth.

Julian smiled "It's been a long time since you called me 'college boy.'"

"Well you are," Tom replied with a throaty chuckle, his hand making it's way  
across Julian's chest and lower, towards the growing need he could see  
straining against the Doctor's pants. "All squeaky clean." As he spoke, his  
long, tapered fingers brushed across the swelling and he heard Julian's  
sharp intake of breath.

Julian's own chuckle, matched Tom's as he wrapped his arms around the slight  
body of the other man. "Oh I wouldn't say," he broke off with a gasp of  
desire as those knowledgeable fingers caressed. "Well...perhaps a little."  
He pulled Tom closer, not wanting to let go. "So what's the going rate for  
a guard to turn a blind eye?"

"Ask him, Jules. Perhaps he wants that little drug you have to help a man  
keep it up all night." Tom ended his sentence with a small squeeze of the  
Doctor's cock.

Julian smirked, kissing his lover gently then he shook his head. "Oh no...  
For THAT he would have to let us out of here."

"Well, I think that's a no-no, don't you?" Tom asked with a small laugh. "So  
think of some other payment, or I am sure he will have his own ideas."

Julian reluctantly let Tom go, smiling as he got to his feet. "I will see  
what I can do," he said as he walked towards the door. "Don't go anywhere."

"Wise guy!" Tom replied with a mock scowl, which was met with an amused  
chuckle from the doctor as he stepped out of the room to speak with the  
guard.

As Julian approached the watch desk, the guard looked up with a small,  
polite smile. "What can I do for you doc?"

"Well...uh I was wondering if you could do us a favour..." Julian said,  
hating the fact that he stumbled over the words like a nervous cadet.

"I don't do favours for trash like Paris, doc," the guard replied with a  
sneer. "If there is something I can do for you though?"

Julian bit down on the sharp reply he was about to make, and plastered a  
smile onto his lips. "There is something you can do for me, as a matter of  
fact... I'd like a little private time with my friend in there."

"Well, I'm afraid that would be against regulations," the guard replied.  
"I never go against regulations, unless someone were to make  
it worth my while."

"Oh I am sure something can be arranged..." Julian leaned his elbow casually  
on the high desk and lowered his voice. "What, exactly, would make such a  
breach of rules, 'worth your while?'"

"I hear you have some very close Cardassian friends, doctor. If that were  
the case they could probably get me a case of Cardassian rum wouldn't you  
think?"

"Ah you're a man of discerning taste, I see...but that would include  
deactivating the vid and audio in the cell. Cardassian Rum is not that  
cheap."

"No way, doc. That would be rather stupid of me wouldn't it? I'll tell you  
what. I will give you the vid once I have the goods in my hand...otherwise  
what is there to make you keep your side of the bargain?"

Julian narrowed his eyes, considering this, then he said: "And how do I know  
there are no copies? I have my position to think of after all." He said  
softly, suddenly struck with how much this measly little guard reminded him  
of Quark.

With a smirk, the guard folded his arms across his chest, and leaned back in  
his chair. "No deal then. You wait for that little piece of blond tail  
until you have the goods. Shouldn't take a man like yourself that long to  
round up one case of Cardassian rum now should it?"

"All right." Julian was intelligent enough to know when he was beaten, and a  
trip to DS9 and back could take days. By then, Tom may not be in a position  
to receive such unsupervised visits. "But, you remember my Cardassian  
friends before you even think of copying that vid...they have some  
_exquisite_ methods of revenge."

The guard smiled "I would never think of such a thing, doc...and I have to  
admit that I wouldn't mind a shot at that tail myself given half a chance."

Julian pushed away from the counter and moved across the hall to Tom's cell  
without saying anything more. As he entered Tom's room, he arranged his  
features into a smile, trying to dismiss the unsavoury feeling he had about  
this whole thing. _Gods I hope I never have to do anything like that_  
_again,_ he thought. "Well, that was relatively painless..." he said to Tom.  
_If you don't count the 4 strips of latinum that rum is going to cost me_

Tom stood up and began to strip out of his clothing.

Amazed, Julian stopped in his tracks. "Wait! Tom...what are you doing?"

"You sorted the guard didn't you?" Tom asked, dropping his shirt to the  
floor.

"Well, y-yes, but..."

"But?"

Julian walked over to take Tom in his arms. "There's no need to rush."

"But you want this, Jules," Tom whispered.

"Yes...I want this..." Julian gently caressed Tom's cheek. "But I want to  
make love to you...slowly."

"Jules, you really have no idea, do you?" Tom sighed. "This is a lock up. Just how long do you think that guard is going to look the other way for?"

"Let's not worry about him right now." Julian said softly. "It's just you  
and me... no one else matters." He added, and then claimed Tom's mouth in a  
searing kiss.

* * *

In the shadows by the side of a small, squat building, a man waited in  
silence. Beside him on the ground, a small case, about the size of a field  
medkit rested.

He looked about from time to time to ensure he was not being observed, but  
for the most part, he seemed relaxed and calm. He wore dark coloured  
clothing; difficult to make out in the darkness. He seemed watchful, alert  
and was obviously waiting for someone.

Eventually, another shadowy figure slipped out of the darkness and joined  
the waiting man. The case was picked up and slung over the shoulder of the  
newcomer.

"Thankyou, doctor. I know we can't express how much this assistance means to  
us." The man spoke softly, his dark eyes looking into the eyes of the  
Bajoran doctor who had risked much to bring the medical supplies to this  
rendezvous point.

"What news?" The doctor's voice was barely above a whisper. "We heard of the  
Liberty how many lost?"

"Not as many as the Federation hoped, thank the gods. Only half the crew  
were aboard at the time."

"Captain Chakotay?" the query was spoken so softly it was almost inaudible.

"Safe."

The doctor nodded and stepped away into the shadows, speaking in Bajoran,  
"Bentel shakali.*" And then turned and slipped quietly away.

* * *

The utter boredom of his incarceration was already taking a toll on Tom and  
he had only been in the remand centre for two days. Ever since the guards  
had unlocked and opened his door, at 0500 that morning, he'd been trying to  
find ways to occupy his time.

Because of his light duties status, no one would permit him to do anything  
more strenuous than mopping floors. He had mopped and buffed the floors in  
his section to a high polish in the last 48 hours, and the activity held no  
appeal to him now. He was merely biding his time until he could see the  
doctor and ask for an upgrade. At least if he could work he would have some  
way of occupying his mind and his body.

Pacing the length of his cell, now he was awaiting the security escort that  
would take him to the doctor's office.

Finally, he heard the sound of footfalls outside his cell and he moved to  
the doorway, looking along the corridor to see a guard, and Julian Bashir  
approaching. He had to restrain himself from letting out a whoop of relief.

The walk to the doctor's office was a diversion at least, even if the  
scenery was no different than anywhere else in this bleak, sterile looking  
facility. Tom was not permitted to speak to Julian along the way, but he was  
not too worried, content to just be moving and doing something outside of  
the routine.

They arrived at the doctor's rooms and the guard opened the doors showing  
Tom, once more into the small, sealed exam room he had come to on his  
arrival. Julian was ordered to wait outside.

After a few moments, the doctor came in through the only other door in the  
room and Tom looked up with a smile, expecting to see Doctor Kahlen. He saw  
instead, a tall, slim, dark haired Bajoran male and he gave a small laugh.

"Are the Bajoran people so well that they can afford to send all their  
doctors to work for Star Fleet?"

The doctor smiled slightly, activating the tricorder in his hand. "Bajor has  
a healthful environment. I am Doctor Heparr, Mr. Paris" Again, the mark of  
respect in using a title. Tom appreciated it.

"Say, doc. D'you think I could have some more work to do?" he asked, "I'm  
going crazy with boredom."

"I don't see that as a problem. The transplant seems to have been well  
accepted by your system." The doctor made a note on a Padd. "So, how are you  
feeling?"

Tom had a sense that the question related to more than his physical well  
being and he sighed. "Ok, I guess." He replied. "It's not everyday that you  
lose all your friends in that way."

"Well, I can at least soften the blow," Doctor Heparr said; "Only half the  
Liberty's crew were lost. Bad enough in itself, but better than we had  
heard."

"What?" Tom looked into the doctor's eyes and then shook his head. "Half?"  
he hardly dared ask the next question, but he forced the words past his  
lips. "D-do you know if. I mean who."

"Who survived?" The Doctor placed a steadying hand on his suddenly very pale  
young patient's shoulder. "I don't know all of their names, but those I am  
sure of are the Captain, and his first officer, Gregor Ayala."  
"You're sure?" Tom's voice was intense. "You're absolutely certain?"

"Yes." Heparr frowned slightly. "I have it on very good authority." He didn't mention  
that it was Ayala himself who'd told him Chakotay was alive when they had made their  
rendezvous the previous night.

"Oh God." Tom was suddenly dizzy. "He knew." he closed his eyes, trying to  
steady himself. _Julian knew. he had to. He knew and he didn't tell me!_

"Mr Paris, are you all right?" The doctor gave Tom a slight shake.

Tom forced himself to get a grip, and nodded slightly. "Sorry," he said.  
"I--I its just a shock. That's all."

"Of course. Perhaps you'd like to go back to your cell and rest? I will save  
your upgrade of duty until tomorrow?"

"Yes. Yes, I'd like that. Tom paused then looked into the Doctor's eyes.  
"Thank you." Inwardly he was boiling with anger, and betrayal, and he couldn't  
wait to get his hands on Julian Bashir.

No speech was permitted between himself and Julian on the way back to Tom's  
cell, and the young blonde man spent the entire walk fuming. He kept his  
features carefully neutral, no trace of emotion showing in his face.

Julian walked at his side, silent, glancing at Tom once in a while, with  
concern. Tom seemed pale and subdued after his visit to the doctor, but  
Heparr had not said anything to indicate that Tom's health was anything less  
than it should be. He frowned, wondering if something else was troubling  
Tom. The silence imposed in transit was an effective barrier though,  
preventing him from asking.

When they entered Tom's cell, Tom moved immediately to the bench cum sofa  
and eased his tall frame down on it. He remained silent, not even sparing  
his visitor a glance.

"Tom, is something the matter?" Julian moved to sit next to his lover on the  
bench, reaching for his hand, then drawing back when Tom jerked away from  
his touch.

"Tom?"

"When were you planning to tell me the truth, Julian?"

"What? I don't understand, what are you talking about.'"

Tom turned to look at Julian, his eyes steely and cold as he said, "The  
truth about The Liberty, and the truth about Chakotay. You knew he survived,  
didn't you?"

"Chakotay?" Julian's handsome features clouded with worry. "I didn't know.I  
mean it wasn't confirmed the the report said that he may have escaped  
nothing was certain, Tom. I..."

"You bastard!" Tom lunged at Julian, knocking him to the floor and pinning  
the lighter framed doctor with his weight. "You conniving, sneaking little  
bastard!"

"Tom! Stop, please I...I didn't mean to hurt you. Don't you see, it's complete  
foolishness for you to throw yourself away like this!"

"Shut up!" Tom slapped Julian hard across the face, the pent up anger in him  
exploding into action. "You were going to stand by and let me sell them out!  
You prick!" He slapped Julian again, then balled his fist and slammed it  
into the doctor's face.

Julian cried out with pain and anger and began to struggle, attempting to  
throw Tom off with his hips. "Let go of me! You're mad! You've always been  
unbalanced." He managed to flip Tom over and hold him down. "I can help you,  
Tom! I can help you to regain your ."

"The only time I was unbalanced was when I let you talk me into this whole  
damn fiasco!" Tom struggled violently, breaking free and grabbing for Julian's throat.  
"I'll KILL YOU! YOU BASTARD!"

Julian ducked to the side to avoid the strangle hold, and Tom gained the  
upper hand, diving on Julian's back as the man tried to get to his feet, he  
clawed at the doctor's face from behind, his nails raking a bloody trail  
across Julian's right cheek.

"Come back here you damned coward!" Tom sobbed as Julian managed to break  
away and run through the door of his cell. Before Tom could give chase, he  
heard the locking mechanism activated and he stood, panting and shaking with  
anger and reaction.

"Bastard." he muttered before he turned and made his way to the bunk in his  
sleeping quarters. Collapsing face down, he buried his face against his arms  
and cried softly. _He's alive.and I was going to sell him out completely._

After a while, Tom drifted into fitful sleep, and was not sure how long he  
had lain there, when the door was opened to admit a guard, accompanied by  
Doctor Heparr. He sat up, blinking a little, and trying to focus his eyes on  
the two men.

"Hello, Mr. Paris." Doctor Heparr moved over to the side of the bunk and  
hunkered down. "I heard you were involved in an.incident here this  
afternoon. I thought I would look in on you."

"I'm fine, Doc." Tom kept his eyes lowered. "It's nothing, really." He  
winced a little when the doctor inspected his knuckles.

The Doctor ran a tricorder over the area. "Slight bruising. Nothing serious.  
Are you sure there is nothing I can do for you?"

Tom was about to shake his head, and then he stopped. "Yes, would you please  
ask the warden to contact my lawyer? I...want to change my plea."

 

Finis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Bentel shakali is Bajoran for "prophets' blessing"

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this, please leave me a comment or kudos. I love to hear your thoughts!


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